


From Far Forgotten

by lemon_and_chai



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_and_chai/pseuds/lemon_and_chai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cursed from existence, Fuji finds himself on the dark end of a black spell. What passionate emotions of love and friendship could save him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published 2005 to 2012.

L'alimentazione di un nome  
 _The power of a name_

Un titre pour l'existance  
 _A title for existence_

Ein tiefer Anschluß trennten  
 _A deep connection severed_

By black and pure desires  
 _By black and pure desires_

"Fuji Syuusuke, you shall be mine."

* * *

Those gracious cobalt orbs were glancing up at him, lips smiling tightly against his bared skin. Tezuka pulled closer the warm body his arms wrapped tenderly around, till his tongue could easily caress that creamy forehead.

"Tezu..." His tongue found its way into the curls of a fluent earlobe - "...Kunimitsu..." - then along an overactive jaw bone - "...you won't..." - and a vibrating throat begging to be stilled... " ... _oh_..." - moans were alright, though - "..forget me...if..."

He drew his hand against that fair light hair, sighing in pleasure at the smooth sensations running from soft silky strands rubbing against his over sensitive skin. His partner moaned against him, words finally forgotten, warm breath tickling at his collar. He felt the smaller man snuggle against him, as if trying not to wake from the dream of the surreal ecstasy they'd shared only moments before.

They nuzzled together for several moments, neither wanting to part from the other's warmth. Tezuka felt a small click in his tennis wrist, a warning of things to come... he suppressed the worries of 'outside', outside this room, outside where society was, where his friends and family were, all waiting to judge him, them...but it didn't matter. He accepted it completely. It wasn't that he didn't care, he just loved this man too much, too deeply, to ever give him up... he looked down at those azure eyes, feeling an overwhelming flow of passion...

Those sky blue eyes were watching him, slightly glazed, as if a cool fog mysteriously shifted between them... and Tezuka saw an uncertainty, a taint of fear, shifting in those blue, blue eyes...

...and then slowly they faded... the warmth faded...the body was fading...

... body?

Tezuka felt something fading, something torn, something empty... something... _cold_...a ghost like figure was looking down at him, watching him with blue, blue eyes... eyes that begged him, eyes that knew him, eyes that ask..ed him...some...thing...

That person's mouth opened slightly, as if trying to say... Tezuka knew if he reached out his hand, it'd pass right through the fading body before him... he felt he had to... reach out... but...something...

Suddenly he sat up in bed, panting in cold sweat as if from a nightmare. He glanced around, fingering for his glasses. ...Had someone been there? He had a strange cold feeling... but he couldn't remember anything like that. He was in his bedroom, alone, as most only children are alone, as always.

Something felt terribly wrong, but he quickly dampened the feeling, as he did all emotions, letting his expression set back into its usual impassiveness. Whatever dream he had had must have been disturbing, but it couldn't have been important since he'd already forgotten it. Glasses now properly in place, he scanned his room with minor uneasiness for any signs of disturbance.

Nothing.

He was alone.


	2. C1: Eiji's Memories (The Best Friend)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eiji's Memories
> 
> ~ The Best Friend ~

Ouch! His arms hurt. This wasn't funny! He was sure he'd get laughed at... by... who? Someone always liked to tease him. Who was it again?

Eiji groaned miserably, partially cause he couldn't remember, and that bugged him, but mostly because of the heavy buckets of water pulling down at either of his wrists. If he had to hold these any longer, his muscles would be strained, and then he wouldn't get to play tennis! It wasn't fair!

Okay okay, so maybe he should have been paying attention, then the teacher wouldn't have got mad at him for not knowing what page they were on, or maybe he should have done his homework, so he could've answered the special I'll-forgive-you-if-you-know-the-answer question she gave him, before getting even more angry and sending him outside to hold buckets. But, but, but, it just wasn't _fair_ , and usually that guy... who was it again? ... would tell him where to pick up. That was really starting to bother him. It was the guy who sat next to him, the guy that was absent today. Eiji'd forgotten his name (well he forgot most people's names), but at least he should remember what he looked like, right? But for some reason his brain was just totally out of whack today. He just couldn't remember anything! Like what animal those sailors got turned into when they visited the witch's island... but who cared about old greeky stories anyways? No one read them anymore, everyone watched television, or downloaded media online; jeez, didn't his teacher know that? And, _ow_ , these buckets made his arms hurt!

"Mou..." he growled, rocking the buckets in all his anguish and _accidentally_ causing much of the water to spill out onto the hallway tiles.

"Eiji!" Oh, _this_ voice he could easily place. "Someone might slip... we should get this cleaned up right away!" Oishi's cool green eyes wavered with their typical concern, and a little scolding too. Eiji nyad in surprise at the sudden appearance of his favorite (and only) doubles partner. Since Oishi held a stack of envelopes in his hands, it must have been his turn to collect the attendance sheets from all the classrooms. The office loved to send their model student out on rounds; he was setting an example, or something, or maybe they just liked the fact he did their work by scolding errant students for them, and still remained popular. Seriously, people seemed to like him the more that he nagged. Eiji just couldn't figure it out!

Still, his heart lighten at the sight of one so familiar, someone he could depend on - and, well, whine to when he felt like it. "Oooishi! This is terrible!" He nyad miserably, face crinkling up like a fish.

"Eiji, I'm sure the teacher is punishing you for a good reason, just because I'm on the student council doesn't mean I can go say anything to her-"

"Oh it's not that!" Okay, so he _had_ hoped Oishi would help him, but he knew the orthodox boy well enough not to bother asking. "Something's bothering me!"

"What's wrong?" His partner's forhead wrinkled in concern.

"I don't know, but it's bothering me! All morning since I got to school. It's really weird you see? And I just can't remember what the guy's who sits next to me name is, or what he looks like, and it's bothering me! It really really is! I think-" he looked a little poutier than usual, lips puckered out like a monkey, but he paused unsure of how to word what he wanted to say. "...um, it's like there's something I'm supposed to know, but I don't, but I _want_ to, and..."

"Eiji Eiji, slow down!" Oishi shifted through the envelops in his hand. "Look, the girl who sits next to you is Sachiko Izumi, next time you should just have the courage to ask her her name, there's nothing wrong with-"

" _Chigau!_ That's not it! I meant, the guy who sits on the other side of me," In all his frustration, the buckets' contents had completely emptied out onto the hall's floor. Oops. "You know, in the window seat. He's always looking out the window like he sees something out there no one else can..." ...wait, how did he know that? ... nya? ... For some reason, he started to feel quiet and sad.

"But there is no one in that desk, Eiji. The teacher marked that no one was absent today, and no one's sat at that desk since the beginning of school." Oishi frowned. Normally his partner's absent-minded banter garbled together so many daydreams and random comments he didn't expect to make sense out of it anyways, but for some reason... what Eiji said really didn't add up. In a disconcerting way. He felt a funny pit drop sickeningly in his stomach, and a strange whining ringing monotonously in the back of his head. An empty realization seeped through him, like a harsh static that drowned out his thoughts, his memories. . . . "... um... Eiji, I'm starting to get that feeling too... like something's very wrong..."

Those cat-like eyes widened, and Eiji stared at him with watery orbs, all of a sudden looking very sick. ... and frightened. Both water buckets dropped unceremoniously from his hands, clattering noisily against the water laced tile. Suddenly Oishi found himself being gripped - not glomped, or huggled, but both jackets sleeves were being tugged down by Eiji's desperate fingers as the redhead buried his face into his partner's shirt. Oishi gently drew the trembling body closer, pressing his palm across Eij's thick curls, completely unsure of what villain he needed to comfort the sobbing figure from.

It was so strange, though. Nothing had happened, nothing had changed, no one was hurt, everything was as it should. Yet it felt as if something important had been taken away.

* * *

A lifting breeze swept innocuously through the hallway. Nothing was there. Many students had already gone home, but those with extra curriculars had scurried off to meetings, or for those he cared for most, tennis practice.

Fuji let his ashen blue eyes shift visionless towards the window, allowing him to pear down at the tireless figures running vivaciously around green painted courts. A gentle smile played across his face, but he did not wear his usual fox-like mask of upturned eyes and impenetrable ambiance. There was no need. There was no one to hide from. No one was in the hall way. No one saw him. He was not there.

He looked down at his hands, whistling at the pale skin that rippled colder than a grave stone. They were his own hands, he was sure they were, yet he could see right through them. His whole body was like that, transparent, present yet gone... his presence was there, but he was not there. One would have thought he was a ghost.

He didn't _feel_ like a ghost.

No. It must have seemed like he was dead, but he wasn't. He recognized the icy etch that tingled throughout his nerves - after all he'd dealt with enough black magic to recognize the curse as it drowned him. But for once, he failed to defend against it. The darkness blanketed his bones, his skin and vision, coating away his senses and drawing him luridly into the ethereal, separating him from Tezuka, who had held him so warmly only moments before.

_Tezuka_... Below he could see his stoic buchou, barking out orders to the peons (first years) around him, telling Momoshiro and Kaido to run more laps for arguing while running laps. Always the epitome of order and efficiency. Always...unchanged... ... _you can go on without me_... Something in Fuji's mind swirled warningly, but his heart sank down just a little further than it'd been before.

It was remarkable, yet he couldn't help but feel slightly amused... and pitiable, at his failure to deflect the curse which had struck him like a well-placed cobra. It shouldn't have mattered that he was distracted, that his mind was tired from having just woken up after a long, pleasurable night... he had never failed to wave back a curse before, no matter the circumstances. His sister Yumiko had spent hours with him when he was little, going over different kinds of spells and magics of the world, showing him how to avoid them, how to twist them to his advantage, how to use them to cunningly mold the lives around him... he had never, ever thought the curses he specialized at casting could be used against him. And such a severe one at that... after all he...

He had to go home. He had to find Yumiko - surely she'd be able to sense him, maybe even see him - and find out what had happened to him, and how to fix it. Panic tinged dangerously at the edge of his veins, but he quickly brushed it away. He couldn't afford any more distractions. A curse of this level had more than one purpose, and the true meaning behind his... translucence, would be something darker, driven by ardor stronger than only hatred. He had many enemies, but if they simply wanted to kill him, there were other, simpler ways. And something like this required a lot of energy... only a master could remove substance from the universe, or someone with an extreme overflowing passion...

His contemplations were broken by a raucous of uneven footsteps, and his sharp vision was startled by the appearance of two all-too familiar figures, the ever dramatic Golden Pair. Eiji was tumbling backwards, his feet shuffling chaotically and despite his naturally superb balance he looked like he was about to fall, then Oishi would grab him and try to pull him back. Eiji struggled reflexively against him, and moved away only to trip up again, but this time Oishi caught him from behind, locking his arms together around the redhead's waist, holding the two of them close together.

Neither one donned the tennis regular's uniform, and he wondered nonchalantly why they weren't attending practice. But what really drew Fuji's attention was Eiji's cheeks... they were... red, and puffed up, and his eyes were swollen, as if he'd been crying for hours, and he was still crying now, and he kept saying, over and over, "I miss him, I miss him, oh Oishi! He's gone!"

And Oishi cooed distraughtly to him, in a hushed over voice, so Fuji had to strain his senses to hear, "There's no one, there's no one to miss, Eiji, there's no one..."

They were tumbling rapidly towards him, and he pressed his body flatly against the wall, knowing they couldn't see him, trying to keep out of their way so they wouldn't run into him. He knew if they did, they would simply pass through, his flesh no more than a breeze, but the sensation... He didn't want his two best friends to feel anything so terrible. It would be cold, cringingly cold, like touching death... except nothing would be there.

Except...

This wasn't death. With death there were memories, connections, friends made, lovers had, family cared for, many who laughed and yelled and cried and mourned. Many who looked down at the still body in the casket, calling, 'he was our friend, our lover, our brother, our son...' Those who would spit on the gravestone in hatred, and those who would come yearly to clean it and set down flowers. There was death, but before death, there had been life, like the flower which bloomed brilliantly for all to admire just after it was cut from the source of it's vitality.

No, this was far worse...

Fuji Syuusuke had ceased to exist.


	3. C2: Inui's Memories (The Rival)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inui's Memories
> 
> ~ The Rival ~

Clicks of plastic and taps on paper patterned echoed within the locker room as the last of Seigaku's tennis club members began to drift home. Over and over again, the pattern repeated itself - double check, triple check, Inui would check again on his computer once he got home, but right now he was too frustrated to even stand. He checked the expenditures, the times, last month's analysis, carefully laying out the formulas into an algebraic array to help sort things out methodically. Still wrong. He scratched out his previous calculations, then started over from the beginning.

Still, that irritating inconsistency remained. It had started so small, too, then as he started to explore the cause, grew wider and deeper, and more troublesome with every punch on his calculator. Soon enormous pits tore into many of his observations, threatening their validity in a most unnerving manner.

Data does not lie. But incomplete data is even worse than having absolutely no data at all.

"Sempai..." his observant ears immediately marked a concerned lift in Kaido's voice. "Are you planning on having training later? Uh, if you're busy, that's fine and all..." Kaido had never seen his sempai so... perturbed. And he had never seen him do calculations outside his room, on anything other than his personal computer. Usually the pragmatic senior would note his observations during the day, then compile the data once he got home. Inui liked to keep his methods generally veiled, but he had let Kaido in on a few of them, to the younger boy's great honor.

"Ah, Kaido, I - " The data man paused, his head tilted up in such a way that the light struck his glasses and reflected out solar beams. "I suppose vexing over it will not change anything. I will meet you at the regular time."

Kaido wished he could see his sempai's eyes to see what was troubling him. As things were, he couldn't even look at Inui's face without being blinded. "Sempai, can you tell me what's wrong?"

Inwardly Inui felt pleasure at his kohai's concern, and the emotion momentarily helped quell his discomfort. Nothing showed beyond his glasses, though. "Ah. I was calculating this month's expenses, when I noticed a discrepancy in the amount of led purchased verses the amount that I have used or have stored. Normally I would ignore such a minor dissonance, however, it led me to notice my time schedule was off as well."

Kaido looked lost, but he nodded as if he understood. It was rare of his sempai to be so talkative, after all, so whatever it was it must have been really bothering him.

"Normally I pace myself in order to increase time use efficiency, and I keep records of any deviations. However, I have noticed several gaps over the past month that show I have been collecting data that I cannot find recorded. Or rather, it seems that I did nothing at all during those time periods, yet I am positive that my normal schedule would have required me to spend that time data collecting. Unfortunately, I have no memory of those specific instances."

Kaido repeated the mantra in his head: smile and nod.

"Missing data is an unfortunate event. More disturbing, however, is the data I have collected on some of the regulars - in particular, Tezuka and Ryouma. Both of them show a progressive development that continues according to my calculated itinerary. But what I cannot understand is the formula I used to calculate said itinerary - it seems as though I was considering an unknown factor that is now nonexistent."

"So..." Kaido intervened (he really was listening! ...and trying to make some sense of his sempai. He always tried, really.), " Tezuka and Ryouma have become unpredictable?"

"Oh heavens no," Inui gleamed. "The formula is correct, or rather, it has been proven by their current play styles. The problem is simple," he fingered his glasses, and Kaido stifled a relieved sigh at his sempai's typical sign of conclusion. "Yesterday I was able to understand these calculations. Today I am not. All evidence points towards missing data - a large amount of it, actually - that I have no memory of recording. Which suggests that the fault lies with both my notebooks, several of which must be missing, and my memory."

Kaido just stared. Inui was growing weirder every day.

Inui sighed, perfectly aware that his kohai didn't understand a thing. But he couldn't help but be pleased that Kaido was still trying to listen. "In other words, my memory has been tempered with."

"Oh..." Kaido finally said, after an unintelligible pause. "But sempai, how is that possible?"

Inui nodded, "Good question, Kaido. Usually, this would be absurd to even cogitate." However... there was something that told him he was on the right track. Like, the damp feeling of led filling his stomach, or the sleepy drone that made the back of his neck tinge uncomfortably. "I am thinking that perhaps, both the data, and my memory, concerns one particular event, or individual."

He hated to rely on this ... a gut instinct. Yuck. How disastrously unscientific. Yet he couldn't help but feel there was someone he was connected to, someone who perplexed him and challenged him both intellectually and as a tennis player, someone he felt rivalry towards yet complacent in their relationship, as if he had found someone who he was mentally on par with and could exchange observations. But this someone did not exist. Not in his data. Not in his memory. But his _instinct_ kept telling him otherwise...strongly enough for him to actually consider the possibility of his memory being modified.

"And memory can scientifically be altered. Certain chemicals can cause memory loss, such the common date rape drugs, GHB and Rohypnol. Physical traumas ranging from brain injury to stroke to alcohol abuse can degrade memory, though usually in a more random manor. In this case, the cause would more likely be something psychological, such as hypnotism. The mind can be trained to reject certain key words, such as a person's name. Tell me, Kaido, what do you think would happen if you could not mentally connect to a person's name?"

Pursing his lips in surprise as the sudden question, Kaido paused for minute to try to think about what Inui just said. Name? Connect? Mind manipulation? He shivered. Maybe he read too much science fiction, but it seemed like a pretty bad thing when modern technologies tried to manipulate the human thoughts. What if computers took over and could not only control everything by force but by brainwashing people too? What if the government tried to do that?

He shook off his superstitions. "Sss…I guess if you didn't know someone's name, you'd have to think of him as the redhead guy, or something." That seemed like a logical answer, he thought.

"Ah, you would imagine so. However, what if you actually did know that name? You know the name, but are unable to access your memory of it. If you knew the 'redhead guy' is named Eiji, then you would from that point on think of him as Eiji. All your memories would be attached to the name 'Eiji', even the memory of what he looks like. This is our brain's way to catalog information; we attached a title to a piece information, and connect these titles as in a set of chains. If one title is blacked out, we will not be able to access the information for the rest of the chain. In other words, we will forget everything about that person, as if he never existed."

"Fshuu…." That seemed like a heavy load. Kaido vowed (again, for the umpteenth time) to stick to tennis, and stay far far away from data, math, science, and all other things related. "And you think that happened to you? The brain washing thing." He would never admit it, but it made him angry to think anyone might have done something to his sempai. If something _had_ been done, then Kaido Kaoru would find that guy and –

"No, not really, but I am considering the possibility." Inui fingered the metal bridge of his glasses, as if to readjust the shine for the setting sun. "Ah, Tezuka."

The stoic buchou had just walked by, about to take his leave from the locker rooms and his temporary reprieve from his duties as captain. "Yes, Inui?"

"Have you noticed any discommodities as of late? As if, something is _off_? Like a cognition of something misplaced." A gut feeling, he wanted to say, but Tezuka would find that too out of character.

Tezuka eyed his teammate with his usual apathy and nonchalantly replied, "No."

"I see. Never mind then."

Tezuka gave a quick nod, then hurried on with little consideration to Inui's quirks, his mind already occupied on modifications for tomorrow's practice. There was always room for improvement, and the team couldn't afford to be careless.

Inui watched him go, not writing any data, but with a frown.

* * *

Leaning against some of the lockers, Fuji chuckled in amusement listening to Inui's banter. Somehow he had found himself here, in the locker room, though he didn't really know why. Maybe he could only be where people were talking about him. It was interesting, though, listening to his teammate's explanation; the data man didn't seem to actually believe it himself, but Fuji felt somewhat enlightened. He couldn't say he wasn't nervous about what had happened to him… he still wasn't sure what _had_ – but he knew he couldn't afford to panic.

Inui's instincts were surprisingly sharp for someone who relied on exact calculations. Fuji wasn't much of a plotter – he didn't carefully arrange scenarios, or predict reactions; he had always relied on his instincts to manipulate things as he pleased. His sixth sense was outstandingly powerful, and he had always assumed Inui and other data collector types used their observations to replace that sense. Only now did he pleasingly discover that Inui had very strong spiritual feelings, and his heart warmed towards the taller man. At the same time, sorrow graced against his veins, as he wished he'd noticed sooner and become closer friends with Inui. Silently he vowed to do so, if he ever got the chance.

Amazingly Inui had picked Tezuka, of all people, to question. He hadn't even asked Kaido if he felt any displacements, despite explaining everything else to his kohai. And yet Fuji found himself biting his lip anxiously, waiting for the answer.

And a simply answer it was. Fuji already regretted having listened in. It would have been easier to just remain ignorant.

_No._

It was such a Tezuka like answer, sure. What did Fuji expect? But… for him to say it so _coldly_ … his eyes didn't even quiver. True, Tezuka kept an awesome poker face, but Fuji read him very well, and usually, the tensai would find swirling passion in those hazel irises. But all he'd seen just now was the usual cool, composed buchou that he'd known before they'd gotten close.

Eiji had noticed, Oishi had noticed, even Inui – but why not Tezuka? A little thorn pricked at his chest. The stiff locker room air seemed to dry out his throat, though with his body the way it was that shouldn't have been possible.

So small, and yet that impassive reaction – or rather, lack of, really hurt. Fuji felt a little angry, too. He was beginning to understand the side effects of this curse – it had removed him from his friends' minds, but not his connection to their souls. Even without being able to remember him, Eiji had noticed all the changes in his life, the missing pieces that didn't make any sense. The redhead had been upset, then devastated, believing that he'd lost something valuable even though he couldn't recall anything gone. Inui may have noticed through his calculations, but his hypothesis being so accurate was due to his inner sense of conflict, his instincts that screamed something was wrong.

But Tezuka's life had continued as always. He was the elite captain of Seigaku's tennis team as always. He focused on training and his players as always.

He was just like he used to act before he started dating Fuji.

"Am I truly not close to your heart, Tezuka?"

For a moment, Fuji thought to trail after Tezuka, but the thorns and needles lodged in his feet kept him from moving. Instead he stayed and watched Inui and Kaido interact. Leaning down a little timidly, the dark haired boy attempted to help his sempai collect his note books and loose leaf calculations. Inui had settled down quite a bit since ranting, and was telling his kohai they could practice together now. A tiny smile glanced across the tall regular's lips, almost unnoticable if Fuji hadn't known him for so long. Azure orbs found themselves scrutinizing curiously the rectangular features, the evenly tended visage that used glass to hide emotions, the same way Fuji kept his eyes closed.

Wait… was Inui... _looking_ at him? But for just a moment, Fuji thought he'd seen past the shine on Inui's glasses… but it couldn't be.

"Sempai," Kaido tapped the data man's shoulder with uncharacteristic timidness, "Is something the matter?"

Inui stood paused, as if waiting for some performance to being, before replying, "No, the wind is playing tricks."

The two of them then headed towards the tennis courts, with Fuji dawdling mournfully after them, his thoughts embedded with Tezuka.

He was so caught up watching Inui and day dreaming about Tezuka he didn't even notice the cool shadow tracing his every motion obsessively from behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cringe* "The formula is correct, or rather, it has been proven by their current play styles" So unscientific. If you know the scientific method, you'll understand why. . Sorry about those who had trouble following Inui! This comes from reading too many science/math/engineering text books. ^^;;
> 
> Inui's Explanation (in the author's words!): Think of how you 'remember' a person. You think of that person's name, and then everything about that person, his looks, his actions, his quirks... each quality that the person has is like a block. We remember millions of these blocks, from thousands of different people. In order to keep these blocks apart, we bundle them together. So the blocks are all bundled together, sorted by the person who they describe. When we want to access our memory of a set of blocks, we have to sort through several sets of blocks, each representing a different person. We label each person with a name. So we find that person's name, then we can access that set of blocks.
> 
> What Inui is saying is that if you are forced to forget that person's name, you won't be able to find any of that person's blocks. In other words, everything about that person will be forgotten as well. . . . So goes the author's theory, though it's based off something I read in my intro to psych course.


	4. C3: Yuuta's Memories (The Brother)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuta's Memories
> 
> ~ The Brother ~

A lithe shadow watched with cool anger as the data specialist and his idiot kohai drifted off to their circadian doings. Twirling an errant strand of obsidian hair, his forehead twitched in irritation at having almost been spotted by that all-too-observant Inui.

_As expected of one of my rivals in the data analysis world_ , thought the shadow. The true target of his observations was moving off, though, and midnight blue pupils followed it with absolute vigilance. _Not so easy to follow, a spiritual essence, or ghost, or whatever that is._ He chuckled a bit. _Why, I do believe he's trying to go home. But that won't work, my dear, as you shall see. I have limited even that._ Indeed, his control had grown even beyond what he had expected. His chuckle grew in pleasure as he noted the beginnings of his prey's confusion.

_Yes, things have gone well…_

Honestly, when _that man_ had approached him, not even a full month ago, he would have vehemently denied that things could have progressed as they had. But at the time, he had been desperate… or rather, by that time, he had been made desperate…

It had been more than half a year since that match against Seigaku, that fateful game which had been the start of his current…. obsession. Yes, since playing the most disgraceful game of his life, he had become obsessed with the very man responsible for this humiliation, the mysterious brilliance that was Fuji Syuusuke.

At first, it had been normal – well, as normal as his activities were – observation of a rather insidious opponent. The hours spent, the days spent… more and more time spent on one fourteen year old, all for the sake of well-contrived vengeance, or so he told himself. But then, his surveillance started to reach beyond tennis… he was learning what Fuji did off the court (for the sake of grasping the tensai's whimsical play style, he reasoned), the kind of student he was, the kind of friends he had. He began researching Fuji's past, hobbies or sports he may have incorporated into his tennis, maybe some sudden changing point that lead to an immense growth of talent.

He found that Fuji had always been talented, that everything came easy to him, and perhaps for that reason he never stayed long with anything. Chess, badminton, yoga, photography... Actually, tennis was the longest activity the tensai courted so far. His potential seemed endless… perhaps because he never bothered to tap into it, or he never played his best so as to keep future opponents off guard. It was interesting data, but not useful enough to develop any absolute scenarios. In fact, calculating a scenario seemed more and more difficult, the more that he learned.

So he dug deeper. He began to harp on every artifact, every detail he could possibly grasp or obtain. He paid thousands of dollars to bribe someone in the government records department to give him Fuji's paperwork, and hacked into school and medical records. He blackmailed and cajoled students at Seigaku to spy on his subject, trying to grasp his daily habits, seeking something, something, amidst all the data…

But it was not enough. He needed more… more data, more info… he needed to get closer… he needed… yes, that was the answer. He needed Fuji. In order to understand Fuji, he would first have to possess him, then study him directly. There was no other solution at this point. But that would require overtaking him, and the whole point of collecting so much data in the first place was to defeat him, right?

It seemed hopeless, yet his obsession only grew more obstinate, more fervent with each passing thought.

His desires, his _wants_ , had just about driven him into the darkest corner of an earthly hell, and then… that man had approached him. He had offered him a solution. No, he had offered him _the_ solution, the very thing he had been searching desperately for. He had offered him Fuji Syuusuke.

He had never believed in such unscientific things as the 'dark arts', but in his desperation, a soul was a small price to pay… and so he'd learned the curse, a maleficent power beyond the natural world…

_You can no longer escape, Fuji Syuusuke. You are mine._

* * *

It felt like he'd been walking forever, but he didn't feel tired. He couldn't feel tired without a body, Fuji reasoned, but somehow it seemed improper this way. A small pang echoingly reminded him of autumn tennis practice, the sweat and exhaustion brought on by dozens of laps ordered by Tezuka, a kind of relaxing pound of the muscles that he happily shared with his friends together. Despite being tired, they'd always laugh and go out for burgers, or play street tennis… _I was still living that life a few days ago_ , he mused, chiding his misfit nostalgia, but somehow it felt so distant. Like the way he was going…

Why wasn't he getting there? He'd been trying to reach his home, hoping to meet Yumiko and find out what the truth behind this curse was. But the farther he walked, the farther it seemed he had to go.

_What if … !_

Why hadn't he realized it sooner! On his left, he clearly eyed one of Tokyo's many waterways sauntering down its muddy tresses. Further down, he knew, train tracks streaked in zigzags and crosses, patterned across the earth for mankind's convenience. If he walked back, and tried to walk away from school, he'd find himself cornered by more rivers, more lines traveled by water, by people, by trains or by cars.

Within them, he was bound.

Highways, railways, rivers; the flowing motion could even be generated by streams of people. What served as transportation in the physical world became a boundary to the spiritual world. He always thought it was ironic, that the trains which carried people in great convenience also doubled as protection against harmful spirits and demons. He'd even heard there was a freeway in LA that could block the walking dead from crossing during rush hour. But they also destroyed the sprites of nature - where the path for man to tread lay, no trees or plants could grow. It was a disturbingly selfish lifestyle of humans, that Fuji never felt quite comfortable accepting.

Now he definitely hated it. His body had the same principles of a mononoke, and was bound by the same disturbing limits. In his mind he mapped the path of the waterways and the train tracks around him, eyes dimming with laced despair as the area he was confined to diminished.

"I can't go home," he thought soberly.

Fearful tingling swept throughout his nerves, but he refused to panic. Everyone always said he was a tensai, a genius, but somehow all that knowledge seemed to be backfiring on him, as everything he knew only showed him how truly dangerous his situation was. Many others would have fallen into the blissful ignorance of being bodiless, for spirits have the inverted freedoms of humans - unaffected by fatigue, never feeling pain or hunger, and even walking felt more like endless drifting, often times they tended to forget their limited space, and feel as if in an infinite hole. But his instincts told him that he couldn't fall into the illusional calm, he couldn't give in, for a more horrible fate awaited him then simply ceasing to exist, and as he drifted his mind grew numb with anxiety...

_Tezuka, what should I do..._

Then, as if to answer his prayers, his eyes came to rest upon an enormous shaft of wood and moss nestled fitfully between the river banks. The fallen tree trunk beckoned like a siren, a natural bridge for human and spiritual rascals alike. Even without calling ethereal power to his pupils, he could see a trail of kodama marching sappily on their way, twitching their tiny white heads in a pitter pattering sound that always reminded him of light spring rains.

They weren't the only thing that brought a smile to his face, as he realized where the trail could take him. St. Rudolf was that way! "Neesan is always saying there is no such thing as coincidence." He tapped his lips thoughtfully. Maybe if he could find Yuuta, something would happen. Even if nothing did, he'd be able to spy on his cute little brother with absolute inconspicuousness. Feeling almost cheerful at the thought of all the wonderful things he'd get to see in his brother who usually yelled at him, and all the things he'd gain to blackmail the adorably teasable boy with, he marched along with the kodama on his way to the other side of the waterway.

* * *

For the umpteenth time that day, Yuuta groaned.

"Stop groaning da ne! It's getting on my nerves da ne!" his fellow teammate Yanagisawa criped, poking him with his elbow.

"Like you're one to talk," his other teammate Kisarazu said his in soft, unfluctuating tone. "Yuuta-kun, your face will freeze like that if you keep scowling."

"Che, leave me alone!" His sempais were so annoying sometimes! "I just have this really _bad_ feeling today, okay! Like there's someone out there trying to make my life miserable." His scowl deepened, if that was possible, and he decided to take it out on the nearest locker.

"U-um! That's m-my locker you're kicking - "

"Like I care!" Yuuta gave that stuttering glasses guy's locker one more solid kick, before heading off to his room. Really, today he just couldn't get any more irritated!

His stupid 'sixth sense', as his sibling always called it, was tingling like crazy, telling him something was up. He'd always complained that he needed an off switch, so that _no_ , he wouldn't have to see ghosts and spirits and dumb things like that whenever he didn't want to. Everyone in his family was born with these stupid powers, which they all called a 'gift', and he'd been told that if he trained he could be able to control them, but there was no way he was going to sit under waterfalls and chant gibberish sutras and lame stuff like that!

So, no, he couldn't turn them off, even though he knew something was wrong, _terribly_ wrong... he felt so sick that morning he'd thrown up during practice and spent his first couple of periods in the nurse's office. He hated it, he knew something black was all around, suffocating and loathsome, something horrible had happened, though he didn't know what it was or what to do about it.

He'd been lectured about all that stuff enough to know that there'd been some sort of curse cast, not at him but that this was a side effect of the curse, that he'd been affected by a part of it. He remembered someone, someone had told him that if something was going on that he wasn't involved in, that he shouldn't get involved, that someone else would take care of it for him, would take care of him.

He'd already decided after his fourth time puking not to do anything about it, and let the problem fix itself, and if it kept on bothering him then eventually he'd get around to doing something, or complain to his nee-san about it. Of course if he brought it up with his sister, she'd immediately start prodding him about honing his senses or try to read his inescapable destiny on her tarot cards or some other annoying thing.

But still, he couldn't help but feel really frustrated. He actually really, really did care; he knew that whatever the curse was, it had hurt him somehow, or had stolen something from him, in a way that he couldn't tell but would always regret. He felt a strange pang of something missing, like the pain of loss he'd felt when his first cat died, only a hundred times worse. He felt really sad, like all his dreams and goals had been ripped away in an instant, and he hated that, so then he started to feel angry. It was better to feel angry, if he got mad enough then he couldn't feel anything else, he couldn't feel sick, and he could take out his anger on his facial muscles and Nomura's locker, though even that didn't feel enough, so he started kicking everything in sight, the bench, the door, the trash can, and when that stupid Yanagisawa unwisely got a little close while making one of his horrible da ne knock knock jokes, Yuuta felt a little better getting to sock his teammate in the face.

That wasn't the person he really wanted to punch, though.

Whoever it was, whoever was at fault, he wouldn't forgive them for making him feel so miserable.

* * *

Watching as the pseudo spirit drifted towards his rampaging younger brother, the dark shadow chuckled in quiet triumph. "Since you have stepped into my territory on your own, shall we move to the next stage, my dear Syuusuke?"

* * *

Fuji wanted to kya like a fangirl. Yuuta was _so_ cute! Smile widening in amusement, Fuji wished he had a camera as he watched his little brother kick at a trash can repeatedly. Those tiny wrinkles, popping veins, narrowed eyebrows - the gleaming frustration in Yuuta's face was just so adorable, he almost forgot his predicament thinking of all the evil things he wanted to do (out of love, of course) to make that darling expression last forever. Oh well, he vowed to work on it another time.

It seemed nothing much had happened, as he had already expected. Yuuta hadn't actually learned how to use his powers after all, and Fuji had told him all sorts of half-truths to make sure his brother never wanted to. He didn't want Yuuta to be caged in all the expectations and consequences of learning the arts of the onmiyouji. He'd had enough himself of his family's cajoling, always asking for this or that favor, help with this or that curse or spell, whenever someone messed up, they would just call in the family tensai and everything would be all better. Uncles who could call storms and quell hurricanes, cousins who could channel the voices of deceased loved ones, sisters who always knew the future, mothers who could literally crystallize emotions and peer into a person's soul... a lineage of useless deific abilities that lost their place in the modern technologized world. Yuuta didn't even know he had such relatives.

Fuji had only one request for his services - he wanted Yuuta to be left alone. He wished for Yuuta to live a normal life and find the everyday happiness that he never would. He'd told Yuuta many times not to get involved, that if anything happened aniki would be there to make it all better.

Using magic for his brother's sake was the only time he actually liked to.

Well, it had been a pointless venture, but he'd find another way. He did come from a family of theurgies after all; someone had to have noticed what had happened, right? He swept around to head for the campus gate, but as he slipped through the propped open main doors, he noticed a shaded figure blocking his way.

Not just blocking his way. Looking at him. Watching him.

_No..._

Mizuki Hajime stood before him, an elated smirk glimmering in his eyes and across his mouth.

_It can't be... Mizuki is the caster?!_

But only the one who did this to him would be able to see him in his current state with such a cold, triumphant glare...

_Has he been following me this whole time?! But how could I not have noticed him?!_

Mizuki tilted his hand in a beckoning motion, and horror boiled through Fuji's blood as his body wavered forward slightly on its own in response.

_No... it wasn't that... I_ couldn't _have noticed him. I wasn't allowed to notice..._ His heart raced desperately in fear. _The curse has progressed this far... just how much can he control me..._

Somehow, his feet managed to find their place moving backwards, and he stumbled back into the school's hallways. He couldn't be caught here! His irritatingly genius mind had already begun to calculate his limitations and his options, and it only confirmed his hopelessness... he began to fall upon instinct, just trying to somehow get away, away from those piercing, midnight blue irises coated with an eerie anticipation...

He found himself lost, disoriented in the unfamiliar hallways of dim whitish paint, trying to go somewhere, anywhere, but feeling as if the walls were closing all around him. A voice crept up behind him, whispering, "Shhh... you're inside my barrier."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mononoke are evil/vengeful spirits. Kodama are tree spirits. Yeah, the same mononoke and kodama from Princess Mononoke. Onmiyouji are sort of like the Japanese wizards (that's a terrible description), they appear in Abenobashi Magical Shopping District, Harukanaru Toki no Naka de, and are featured in Onmiyouji and Onmiyouji 2. The most famous Onmiyouji and apparently the founder of this spiritual art was Abe no Seimei. I don't really know that much about it, though... ^^;;;


	5. C4: Ryouma's Memories (The Challenge)

Without his true body, there was little Fuji could do to counter the malign chains that slowly tightened around him. As the spell caster, Mizuki would gradually gain control over him, more so if he stayed close by. Fuji knew his only hope was to get away, somehow... and so he ran...

He lost himself within the echoing hallways of St. Rudolph. Walls and whispers crept around him, and one particularly effeminate voice called, "Shhh... you're inside my barrier."

Twirling around, Fuji felt his heart melt in a wave of relief at the one who stood before him. Rather than the cold, barren eyes that he feared, the gentle, clairvoyant eyes of an elegant woman looked sorrowfully upon him. Hair bleached and styled, she held herself with the grace and august of Mucha's lady of summer, a vision of hopeful expectation for the accursed boy.

"Neesan..."

For a moment, the two eldest siblings of the Fuji household stood in silence. With wonder Fuji studied Yumiko's faint-hearted expression, her eyes cooing and dismayed in unison.

"Yumiko-neesan…"

His hand lifted to touch her, reached towards her cheek to comfort her from the sadness he saw within her pupils. But before his fingers grazed upon her skin, Yumiko raised her own hand to intertwine with his.

Instead her fingers passed through his, and with horror he saw her gasp and shudder at the frozen sensation of a spirit meeting living flesh. He quickly drew his hand away.

Her eyes fell to the floor, dim and unreadable. Finally Yumiko with a trembling voice, quietly began, "I'm so sorry…"

"Neesan…?" Fuji tried to look into her face, tried to read her disposition as he had always been able to do, since they were children, but for the first time in his life, he just couldn't tell what she was thinking…. He only knew she was so, so sad…

"I'm sorry…I know you're my little brother, and I know you're important to me, but… I'm so sorry, I can't remember what you look like, or … your name."

She sounded so heart broken, as if she were on the verge of tears, but Yumikoneesan never cried, he had never seen her cry and he knew she wouldn't cry in front of him now… surely… he needed one of them to be strong, since he felt his own heart breaking…

_I look like… I take after our mother. You always said that, Yumiko-neesan._

Wetness gathered above his lower lashes, but he bit his lip to hold it in, though he knew there was no one to see him cry, but still… he clung to the droplets as if they were hope.

"I only know what the cards have told me, and they told me to come here… I came here to explain to you what has happened. That is my role… my… fate you could say, for being what I am. I've set up a barrier so no one can see or hear us."

She seemed to look at him, but from the shifty haze in her pupils he could tell that she looked right through him, not at the wall behind him, but at the obscure mists of prophecy.

"The curse you are under is one of the most simple and powerful spells known. It is based simply on an idea. Say, if the people who know you forget who you are… then from their point of view, it's like you don't even exist. They have no memories of you, so you might as well have never been born. This curse makes everyone forget you, forget your _name_ , so that you can no longer exist…

"This magic focuses on the power of words. The key is your name. With all my powers, I can remember some things about you, small things, general things, but not the most important things – I can't remember who you are, I can't remember what to call you. There are so many people in this world… so a name is a very important thing, it is what distinguishes you as being yourself rather than someone else.

"The curse attaches your soul to your name… then the spell caster writes your name on a talisman, and keeps it with him always so he will not forget it when all the rest do. Whoever remembers your name can control you…my dear, if only I…"

Her voice choked, and her fingers griped against her forehead, trying to contain the bitter wrinkles that lined into the skin. Somehow, her explanation had made it this far, but Fuji could see she was trembling, her hand clenched into a fist, colored nails digging into the flesh of her palms… he wanted to hold her, but the cold! The cold of this false body, the cold of the curse, the cold of being forgotten…

His name… how could Yumiko forget his name? Every year she had written it out in cream, at the end of February to celebrate his birthday, centering it on one of her prized cakes. Syusuke in big cursive letters. When they were little, Yuuta got mad about all the attention his aniki got, and tried to eat the whole cake by himself, and got really sick. The next year, by Fuji's suggestion, Yumiko put both Syusuke & Yuuta's names on the cake with a big heart around them, which appeased the delighted Yuuta who took it as an invitation to celebrate his birthday twice annually. Then a few years later Yuuta learned the connotation behind two names in a heart and got really angry again, but this time the cake went into the trash rather than his stomach. After that it went back to being just Syuusuke.

_Both my siblings have forgotten me... am I the only one who has these memories?_

_But no... they remember me, just not completely... they still love me, unlike Tezuka..._

_Tezuka… I really don't exist in your mind… and you're the one that matters…_

"Brother, you must understand, to have someone forcefully ripped from your consciousness is a powerful thing, especially if it's someone you don't want to forget.

"There is one thing stronger than a name's attachment to existence. Your body has vanished, but your soul still exists because people still believe in you, they believe in the feelings they have for you. Your friends love you, I love you… we believe in our hearts, we _want_ you to exist. It is so important… it is so important that you believe in something in order for it to exist. If you stop believing in it, it'll stop existing. That's why you can't ever forget…"

She was interrupted when the windows suddenly started to rattle, and the wind picked up through the room even though they were indoors. Chairs and desks with uneven legs started to shake, and Fuji could feel the powerful bewitching presence of Yumiko's force field being pushed.

" _He_ is here – I can quickly send you to another place." She drew in her breath, then produced a talisman from within her sleeve, and scripted onto it what Fuji recognized as 'The Red Puppet'. Blowing hurriedly into the white slip of paper, she held it between her fore and index fingers, closing her eyes and whispering some undistinguishable jargon before flinging it towards his forehead.

The images around him stretched then vanished, fading to a world of white.

Yumiko watched as the apparition before her faded into nothingness, teleported to another unknown place thanks to her simple spell. Sighing despairingly, she dragged herself out into St. Rudolf's hallway.

Falling back against the cool white wall, she slid down till she was sitting, feeling too tired to move on.

Slow, tapping footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder with every passing second.

First she saw the shadow, then the man who passed before her, twirling a lose strand of hair airily with his forefinger. Mizuki peered into the room she just existed with a scowl, then continued on without giving her even a glance. Behind him, a tiny paper shikigami pranced flippantly, trailing after him like a lost puppy. It turned it's blank paper head at her, shook a little as if debating, then spun around and continued nonchalantly after his walker.

Hugging her knees, she squeezed her eyes shut till she felt the black aura of the malicious youth fade. Her thoughts drifted back to what she had just done, speaking to nothingness.

_Little brother, I'm so sorry… for lying to you…_

Unable to choke down her guilt, she buried her face into the bundles of her skirt, and for the first time in fourteen years, she cried at the dark road that awaited him.

* * *

The blue sky was boring. If there were clouds, at least he could watch them role by, getting that sensual displaced feeling as if _he_ were the one moving, and the clouds held still below him.

But no, today's spring sky was far too clear. Any condensed moisture was invisible to the human eye, or maybe it just didn't exist. This annoyed him. The grass was clean and cool against his laid out body, but there was little wind so the blades hardly trembled. He'd had a nice, but overall dull nap.

Well, at least he had tennis. That was everything to Echizen Ryouma.

Then again, he probably didn't have the right to say that since he'd ditched the last half of afternoon practice to sleep. But he'd been playing for twelve years, what was one skipped day?

_Today sucks,_ he sighed, tilting his head to the side so the grass would stop poking him. English was boringly easy, he hated math, his father was a monkey, no, a buffoon! The perverted bum wouldn't stop teasing him about riding on Momo's bike to school. He couldn't help but cling to his sempai's shoulders the whole way, if he didn't he'd fall off!

He was just about to sit up when the spiky-haired shadow of his thoughts loomed hotly over him.

"Oi, having fun? Cause you're running forty laps tomorrow." A familiar purple-eyed glutton beamed a toothy smile at him, trying not to laugh… just not trying very hard.

Ryouma humphed a bit – forty laps was less then he expected anyways, not that he really wanted to run any – then allowed his sempai and best friend to help him up.

"Momo-sempai, I'm hungry."

"Ooooh, after that hard, _long_ practice I'm sure you are." Momo rolled his eyes, then broadened his smile. "You treat me to burgers, and I'll go play with you on the street tennis courts."

Che. Ryouma pouted. His sempai knew him too well. It wasn't that he could really go eight hours without tennis – he just hadn't felt like going to practice for that particular part of the day. Tezuka-buchou had been so… egg-headed lately, he just didn't want to be around. He would have gone somewhere to make use of his racket, but tennis was always better played against an opponent rather than a wall or some machine.

They packed up quickly in the lockers rooms, trying their best to avoid Eiji, who had been even more melon-headed than Tezuka lately. His eyes had become scratchy and red-rimmed lately, and he snapped at anyone who pushed at the wrong buttons – which seemed to be anything nowadays.

Momo skipped out to get his bike, then rode around so Ryouma could fit behind him. Soon they were off down the rode, the (boringly) gentle breeze lifting up the younger boy's flitting hair, as he clung to those broad, surprisingly reliable shoulders. Then they were stuffing their faces with burgers, seeing who could down the most fries the quickest without choking on the salt.

Ryouma would rather die than admit it, especially to his father, but he really liked this familiar routine. Sure, he liked burgers, and going fast on the bike, and tennis… but it was more than that. It was all about the company, an upperclassman of his had said. He didn't know anyone better than Momo at being brash, lively, zealous, husky, voracious, whiny, and downright full of himself, all at the same time. It was annoying.

But it was interesting. It kept him going, kept him amused, kept him looking forward to the next day and the day after that, just to see his sempai. Even tennis…

Before Momo, tennis had been everything. Now, tennis was almost everything… but the last couple of days, something had happened. Ryouma wasn't sure what it was… it felt like something in tennis had _fallen_ … emptied… like the net had developed tennis ball sized holes so the game had gotten too easy to play.

Yes… tennis had gotten _easy_. There was nothing more boring than that.

It shouldn't have felt that way, Ryouma knew. It hadn't, a few days ago. There was Tezuka… and Atobe… and Sanada… and several more monstrously strong players….

Yet somehow, it just wasn't fun anymore. Either he whipped his opponent off the court, or like with facing Tezuka, found himself so outweighed he couldn't even move. It wasn't fun to simply conquer or be conquered. During his time at Seigaku, he'd learned that the greatest thrill was to be challenged, by someone just barely beyond him, someone who made him struggle, forced him to overcome himself, to outdo and outmaneuver his own weaknesses, to grow, evolve, dead in the middle of the game, to become just strong enough to beat that someone.

But that someone was gone.

He could see himself, standing on a lake, staring out a belvedere at the center of said lake, where there sat a thrown for only the strongest tennis players to sit. He went from stone to stone, hopping closer one stone at a time to that center stage which was his destiny. Yet as he neared the edge of the terrace, there was one stepping stone, just before the edge, that was missing. He measured the distance with his golden eyes, and knew it should have been there. It left one important gap that he knew he could not jump, he only needed that one stone, and he was sure that only a few days ago, he could see that stone clearly.

_Whap!_

"30-love!" a girl's voice called.

"Oi, kiddo!" Momo shouted, his face puffed slightly red with anger. "Stop spacing out! You're almost as bad as that stupid viper today! Pay attention!"

Somehow, they were already playing tennis. Ryouma hadn't even noticed. His hands and feet coordinated on their own, purely off experience and instinct, without his brain having even a clue.

_No one can play tennis like this,_ he thought gloomily. But nothing seemed to help him focus, even as the score stacked against him, the flying ball and the patterned raps on cement seemed meaningless whether or not he paid attention. And Momo was getting more and more angry. He kept shouting something about Ryouma going easy on him and how he was going to pummel some freshman brat to the court's floor. Ryouma tried to focus, but everything just felt so wrong.

"Like a pauperized Gerbil, scampering about moronically without any talent or baring. It's pathetic, Echizen Ryouma."

Just great. An obnoxious, pompous and all-too-familiar guy was standing by the court insulting him. Ryouma thought his day couldn't get any lousier.

"Che, I'm just not in the mood today," he grumbled, glancing out from underneath his cap at the monkey king who stood pontifically nearby.

"Then you shouldn't bother stepping onto the court. You're defiling it," Atobe charged, dramatically placing his fingers onto his chest. "And as Ore-sama once bothered playing against you, I am also offended."

Ryouma responded with little more than a grunt, placing his racket back in its case while ignoring a chafed Momo who was complaining about the game not being over.

"So, is it just you, or has all of Seigaku degraded to a piteous slump of dirt?" Atobe smirked.

"Hey!" cried Momo, jogging up to them, "Don't lump _him_ in with the rest of us!"

"What does that mean?!" cried Ryouma, trying to glare down both Atobe and his sempai at the same time. "I just feel like shit today okay? I should have skipped school and stayed home, that place is worthless anyways."

"Whoa, calm down," edged Momo, looking a little guilty and concerned at Ryouma's rather uncharacteristic outburst. "Sorry okay, I didn't know you were sick. You should have stayed home, I'll take you there."

"Ah... un. Che, whatever." His cap shaded over his golden orbs, hiding them from the others.

"Ore-sama was not aware Seigaku's captain could not determine if one of his players was sick and send them home accordingly," Atobe pined, never missing a pot shot. Ryouma was beginning to begrudge the monkey king's ability for snideness.

Momo scratch at his head, eyebrows scrunched up in thought before saying, "Buchou's gotten kinda... stringent lately. Well more than he used to be, which is sayin' something. Man, practice is hell now!"

Ryouma rolled his eyes. "And then you ask me why I skipped." But an image of his usually palmary captain flashed through his mind. "Lately..." Ryouma said quietly, "... he's become... distant..." He averted his eyes, feeling a little depressed.

Momo eyed him thoughtfully, then grinned in his cheerful, Momo-like way. "Yeah, buchou seems pretty lonely lately. Hehe, he must be feeling jealous at all our labu-labu." And with this he swung a broad arm around Ryouma's shoulders. "So that's why he's making us run so many laps!"

"Whadya mean labu-labu?!" Ryouma scowled, blushing indignantly. "And don't lump _me_ in with _you_ , I only run laps for being late!"

The two best friends squabbled on, without noticing the chilly column of air watching them and chuckling with amusement, though even if they looked they would have seen nothing.

Fuji never got enough of his kohai's dilettante flirting, amateurs as they were they never seemed to get any better or realize they had the same feelings. Well, they were still young, they had time, and Fuji vowed to help them along if he could only get out of his predicament.

Though calling this a 'predicament' at this stage seemed an underestimation. He felt it had been a few days since the curse consumed him, but he wasn't sure. It seemed that when you were a ghost, you had no sense of time.

After his sister cast the talisman on him, the world had withered away and he'd found himself in a white sheet of limbo, traversing a white chord like a tightrope walker, which seemed to go on forever. But he kept following the wire until he found a rip in the sheet of un-space, and pulled himself through it till he saw the street tennis courts. Sighing in relief at the familiarity of the place, he glanced around just in time to see Atobe strut to where Ryouma and Momo were playing a game, then proceeded to eavesdrop on the confrontation.

To his pleasure, he found the three snapping insults at each other while flirting at the same time. Really, his kohai were so obliviously cute.

". . . and making your kohai buy you burgers is extortion! Sempai's the one who's always supposed to pay."

"Feh, I'm only your sempai when it's convenient for you! Thanks for the burger, though," Momo beamed, ruffling the much shorter tennis player's hair.

"You ate _three_ ," Ryouma growled.

"Hn. Really, you Seigaku people need to learn proper etiquette," Atobe loudly interjected, refusing to let the two ignore him. "The seme should always pay fo- or - ah - ... wha... ?!"

With the way his mouth gaped open, it seemed the monkey king had turned into a fish. He opened it, closed it, then opened it again, and though Ore-sama does not _point_ , he _had_ straightened his finger towards what seemed to everyone else to be an empty space of air.

"That - ... That! - ... what?!" Fuji would have chuckled at the way his tiny monkey pupils were twirling around his eyes, and the way Echizen was quirking at him, and Momo kept swinging his head around trying to figure out what Atobe was oggling at, if he weren't caught in his own cache of wonder.

"Atobe - can you see me?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does the curse make sense? This is the final explanation; so let me know if it's still confusing. Basically, if you forget someone, it's like he never existed. It's the reverse of saying, if you always remember someone, then he is always with you.


	6. C5: Saeki's Memories (The Playmate)

With the way his mouth gaped open, it seemed the monkey king had turned into a fish. He opened it, closed it, then opened it again, and though Ore-sama does not _point_ , he _had_ straightened his finger towards what seemed to everyone else to be an empty space of air.

"That - ... That! - ... what!" Fuji would have chuckled at the way his tiny monkey pupils were twirling round his eyes, and the way Echizen was quirking at him, and the way Momo kept swinging his head around trying to figure out what Atobe was oggling at, if he weren't caught in his own cache of wonder.

"Atobe - can you see me?!" Fuji's eyes popped open in surprise, and for a few seconds they practiced staring at each other... until Atobe realized that others around were staring at _him_.

He glared back at them, and haughtily popped, "You can't - ... Ore-sama does not - ... Ore-sama is _tired_ and cannot stand this over-bearing sun! Kabaji, do something about this. Ore-sama will wait _over there_." He motioned towards a dense pack of trees.

Fuji and the others glanced in wonder at the bear-like Kabaji who they'd totally not noticed hulking silently at the street entrance, but Fuji didn't take the time to gawk before sliding over to the place Atobe had indicated. He hid his giggles behind his hand as Atobe tried to dignifiedly strut away from the lot who stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

They walked aways into the park, till Atobe spotted a bench and sat cross-legged in full pride, his hands placed imperiously at his knees.

Then he lost his composure for a moment and allowed himself to stare, before haughtily charging, "What - Is - This! What is going on! Fuji Syuusuke of Seigaku, explain your. . . - appearance."

A dainty smile met his discomposure. "Well, you see, I've been cursed."

"To be translucent? How gaudy!"

Feeling light-hearted for the first time in days, Fuji chuckled before spending the next hour and half explaining, how the curse caused everyone to forget him and how he now drifted within a weak state of semi-existence. The actual account only took twenty minutes, but it kept getting interrupted by Atobe forcing him to stop so he could glare off any impertinent spectators, or oil up his hair, or tap two fingers between his eyes and say "I see" as if he were the one giving the explanation. None of this annoyed Fuji, though; he'd always found the cavalier tennis captain amusing to say the least, and much of his ego was well deserved. With beauty, at least, Fuji admitted only to himself that he'd given the right places the wrong kind of look, just a few tiny times even while dating Tezuka. It was one of his guilty pleasures.

"But why is it I can see you? Not that I really can. I can see all the trees behind you, but I can definitely tell you're there."

Confusion knotted across Fuji's brow. "I don't really know... you can see me, and you remember who I am. This curse was probably directed at me, then spread out and entered the minds of all those it was made to affect, those connected to me. Like a stone dropped in water sending ripples through a lake, the darkness grew with me as its center."

Tapping gracefully against his forehead in what Hyotei dubbed 'insight', Atobe said after a pause, "Four or five days ago... our family's Onmiyouji declared that a black curse was coming, and made everyone, even the servants, hold onto a talisman he handed out. I did it too though I think it's all gibberish." He eyed the honey-haired youth before him, an eyebrow quirking dubiously. "I suppose I now I have to change my mind."

Whistling under his breath, Fuji thought hardly of this declaration in comparison to Atobe's family behind loaded enough to afford their own personal Onmiyouji. Thinking of his family's own ostentations, and the prices _they_ charged (which included a condition of a high social pedigree), he wondered if it was anyone he knew. Really, rich people had it different.

"I see," Fuji nodded in agreement. "As the caster is only a passionate amateur, a grand master Onmiyouji could with enough preparation place the appropriate counter curse... and he probably already had many wards placed throughout your property as reinforcement." Inside, though, he frowned. Why hadn't his own family been able to do the same?

". . . perhaps that's the limit of their love," he mumbled under his breath, unable to push the shadowy doubts that grew slowly within him.

Atobe must have seen his disconsolate expression. "What's wrong?" He asked. It was cute, how he tried to act nonchalant while sounding concerned.

Fuji glanced at the turquoise eyes watching him then stared at the floor. "It's just...easy to speak of things objectively. . . ." Perhaps finally having someone to talk to had weakened him. His fears slightly edged through his omniscient facade. ". . .But in reality, everyone really did forget me... everyone, even Tezuka..."

"An? Tezuka?" The Hyoutei king flipped his bangs questioningly.

"We're dating," Fuji smiled meekly at him. "Or I guess we were. It wasn't really a secret, we just didn't really advertise."

"Oh?" Now both of Atobe's eyebrows quirked imperiously. "So you two made love?"

"Ah, un." Fuji blushed and quickly turned away.

"Ahn. I see. Hm...and even so he forgot you. Well, maybe its a sign of something."

"Eh! That is - " Fuji turned towards him with alarm, but was interrupted as Atobe stood authoritatively.

"Alright then! As things are, little can be done," he declared. "Therefore, Ore-sama is going to help you."

"Oh!" Fuji's heart fluttered in surprise. "Thank you." Upon hearing Atobe's pledge, he did his best to quietly quell the dread crawling against his nerves. He couldn't bear to think that he and Tezuka were not right for each other...

"So!" Atobe smirked, "Where should we start?"

Burying his fearful reveries, Fuji let his prodigal mind shift through possibilities. Slowly, his trademark smile grew daintily back onto his face.

"Actually, hearing your story gave me an idea."

* * *

A strong ocean breeze whipped about his poor white hair, making it stand stiff and scraggly even more than it had before.

Saeki kept pawing at it, trying to control it even a little, but finally gave up. Stretching out his limbs, he plopped backwards into the shimmering sand, no longer caring about the miniscule grains falling into his clothes and hair. Cold air and the lofty smell of salt brought out that whispered feeling of nostalgia this place always brought him.

Overhead, the soft blue sky spread endlessly, calling out memories of his childhood. He'd been so carefree then - what was he saying? He was still pretty carefree now, just a lot less innocent. Or some might say naive, but actually, he hadn't been all that naive even in those days.

He sniggered, recalling all the little pranks they had played. They? Oh yes, him and his childhood friend. It was great to be a kid, everyone always underestimated you.

That friend of his - what was his name again? Saeki let out a snort; forgetting names was unusual for him. But he clearly pictured light, sharp blue eyes, the same color as the sky he stared at now.

That kid had been a little special. He knew all sorts of things no elementary kid would know, and things that even the adults didn't know. He knew that if you put a match to a helium balloon, a booming sound like a gun shot would erupt - and boy did that cause chaos at one of the for-parents days, when they set off the whole row of welcome balloons in the auditorium. One day he brought this chunk of metal he'd swiped from his sister's high school chemistry class, and they threw it in the pool. A horribly nauseating stench raced throughout the entire school, and everyone had to evacuate, all classes cancelled for the day.

But the best pranks were the little ones, the ones no one could ever figure out. One time they called the principal and recorded his voice when he answered "Hello." Then they played the recording back to him. The baldy didn't even recognize his own voice; he said "Hello" again and then some other colloquial thing like "How may I help you." They'd had quite a time recording and replaying everything he said, even mixing in some older recordings from announcements and speeches. After half an hour of muffled giggling and a lot of frustration and anger on the line's other end, the old man finally hung up. Saeki and his partner in crime slipped into the office the next day, eavesdropping on the faculty who were all babbling about some poltergeist and how the principal was hysterically insisting to switch phone companies and rewire all the lines.

And then there were Saeki's favorites, the ones that even Saeki himself couldn't quite understand. He took a rectangular slip of white paper from his shirt pocket, and looked it over with a cheeky smile. His fingers fiddled only with paper and yet the slip was nothing innocent.

"This," the little boy declared, eyes twinkling, "is a talisman. My Onee-chan gave it to me to practice with." He twirled the little slip of paper between his fingers, a fox-like smile creeping across his face. That kid always smiled but the shape of that smile changed, and Saeki especially liked the shape it had now. It pulsed with mischief.

"So? What do you do with it?" the white-haired trouble maker asked. He knew better then to assume that it was only a scrap of paper.

The boy tapped his lips mischievously. "All sorts of things. Almost anything, really. But I thought it would be fun to make kankikujyunjou. They amplify emotions. If you feel a little happy, they'll make you extremely happy, to the point of giddiness. If you feel even the slightest bit sad, they can make you break down crying."

Saeki eyed his friend skeptically, arching an eyebrow for emphasis. "So...how do they work?"

The fox smile widened. "You write down the feeling you want on the talisman, and then, with a little trick, attach it to the person you want to feel that way. It's very simple, but it has all sorts of possibility," he winked, "if you have a good imagination."

Most little boys would have been confused about this, or at least doubtful if they were more mature. Saeki was jubilant.

First they went after their social studies teacher, sheerly out of boredom. Together they decided to write 'forgetful.' When the teacher passed by, his friend blew on the paper, then flicked it towards the unsuspecting man. As if lifted by a wind, the talisman drifted upwards and then somehow tucked itself perfectly into the geezer's shirt pocket, seemingly unnoticed by anyone but the perpetrators.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then all of a sudden the old man paused, bringing an abrupt stop to his monotone lecture about the Meiji restoration. He straightened, blinked twice, and then began to rub his chin, humming a little.

"Now, where was I ... the first Japanese capital was established in Nara... or was it Heian?" A deep frown crested into the teacher's cheeks, making him look like a pouty bull dog.

"Sensei!" One of the boys raised his hand. "We were talking about the Meiji era."

"Oh!" The man grumbled in surprise. "Right right, thanks, um, Shiro."

"My name's Ken!"

The class broke out laughing, poking fun at Ken's thwarted attempt to show off.

"Oh yes, sorry Ta- . . .son. Now let's see, where are my lecture notes . . ." The teacher started to fumble around his desk, opening drawers and tapping his finger on the wooden surface as if trying to remember. "Where is my bag?" He started looking around his desk, bending half-way over to peer behind it and on the sides, though he kept looking in the same places over and over again.

This lasted for several minutes, and was kind of sad to watch. Both boys glanced at each other, feeling a pang of guilt.

His friend held two fingers to his lips and lightly chanted some sort of gibberish, then Saeki watched as the talisman slipped upwards out of the pocket and drifted innocently to the floor.

Almost immediately the teacher recalled that he no longer brought his bag to class from the office, and that went back to mumbling in that low pitched monotone about social reforms and the gradual dissolution of the daimyo.

After that they had the time of their lives, coming up with different emotions to put on different people and playing around with whatever happened. They cast 'doting' on Saeki's mother; they ended up getting plenty of cookies and candy that week, and the white haired boy was especially happy since his parents got along so much better after his mother'd served his father's favorite dishes and drinks. Another slip with 'enthusiastic' doodled on it found its way onto the school bus driver during a field trip, and the class spent a merry two hours receiving a hilarious guided tour of Kyoto, full of amusing misinformation; who knew that usually brooding old gip could be so creative? And then there was the talisman with 'guilty' that stuck onto the bottom of the class bully's shoe. Saeki thought he would die from lack of oxygen when he couldn't stop laughing each time the burly kid started bowing like crazy and saying sorry, sorry over and over again.

Really though, now that he was older Saeki realized that amplification was an understatement. It was more like the kankikujyunjou could create a totally different personality. The whole process was very mysterious, and while they didn't cause too much terror (they still felt a little guilty about playing with people's feelings, even though it was all in good fun), Saeki loved watching the magic at work.

He wasn't one to dwell in the past, but at times like these, watching the sky, he couldn't help but be overcome by memories. There were so many stories, so many pranks, he could write a whole book about them. Maybe someday he would.

Looking back made Saeki chuckle, feeling pleased with himself at all the mischief they had caused. Those were the good old days. He and that kid. . . the one with the blue eyes. . . and . . . and...What the hell! Why couldn't he remember that kid's face?

Well that was just wrong. Saeki never forgot faces. Names, yeah, once in a while, but his special talent had always been memorizing faces. There wasn't a face in his life he couldn't recall, and even random strangers he could usually remember after seeing them only once. The way the nose bent, how high the cheek bones were, the curve of the chin. . . the part of his brain that tracked the arrangement of facial features worked spectacularly well.

But all he could remember about his childhood best friend were his cerulean eyes and close lipped smile.

Glancing at the talisman in his hand, which he could have sworn had suddenly grown warm, he noticed that the paper was no longer blank. Instead, a scribbly looking kanji had appeared, one he couldn't read at all. He flipped it around and still he couldn't read it. He tried squinting, tried putting it away from his face, tried tracing the outline with his finger.

For a second, frustration crossed his chest and forehead, but hey, that caused wrinkles, and Saeki refused to dwell on anything upsetting. Tossing a smoothed stone into the incoming waves, he kicked up some sand and then settled back into cozy mattress of beach. Tucking the nostalgic paper back into his pocket, he decided not to think about it, and let things work out on their own.

Yawning, he muttered an "Oh well," then went back to watching the empty blue sky.

* * *

Atobe clicked off his cell phone with a dramatic flare. "He's not answering."

Fuji just shrugged, amusing himself by trying to catch falling leaves, all of which passed right through him. Well, amusing himself by watching Atobe oggle each time it happened. "Oh well, I wasn't expecting that much," the tensai said, keeping any fearful emotions out of sight. "I only thought of Saeki since you were talking about protective charms. I gave him quite a few when we were children and I'm pretty sure he caries one around. Though, they were made to catch any reflex from a curse, not a curse itself, and certainly not anything this powerful."

He swiped at a leaf, this time putting some spiritual energy into his hand so that he easily blew it off course.

"It's not as essential now," he continued, his normal smile fitting smoothly into place. "I mean, there's at least two poles so I'm temporarily stable."

"Ahn?" Atobe flicked back a piece of hair as if to frame the questioning arc of his nicely shaped eyebrows. "Explain. What are these 'poles' you refer to?"

"Poles are... hm..." Fuji paused and smiled at the sound of his own voice. Finally having someone to converse with filled him with pleasure, the comforting warmth of being seen and heard. "How should I explain?

"For this curse, a pole is a talisman that has my name written on it, since it's my name that's been forgotten. Anyone with this paper would be able to remember my name. The spell caster would definitely have such a pole, and thus I would be drawn to him like a magnet.

"But if there are at least two such talismans in different places, then I can travel anywhere between them. They act like poles holding a net, and the afflicted spirit can cross over the span of that net were it laid horizontally. . . oh! That's why I can travel from St. Rudolph where Mizuki is to Hyotei where you usually are. Seigaku's sort of between the two so I was able to be there as well." His smile broadened as he thought to himself, _but my friends' caring also helped. . ._

"Is that so," the wealthy tennis buchou smirked. "So someone had enough sense to name magical principles with tennis terms."

Fuji laughed. "Saa... I was told it comes from North Pole/South Pole and the compass that aligns between them, but I do like the tennis net analogy more myself." He cupped his hands behind his back, relishing in the warm sensation of his existence being acknowledged, if only by having someone listen to him and exchange words with him.

"So really, this tiny thing," Atobe pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, posing regally as he held it before his eyes with two slim fingers, "is all that stands between you and that walking fashion disaster from St. Rudolph." He turned it around. "Hmph, but all ore-sama sees is scribbles. Really, I am appalled that one of my family's associates has such poor hand writing. Though compared to ore-sama's beautiful cursive, all others' hand writing is poor indeed."

Again, Fuji failed to keep the amusement off his face. "That's not written in Japanese," he chuckled. "This is the language of onmyouji. Here - " he reached out and traced the talisman with his finger, focusing a little power through his hand. The scribbles seemed to twist, then straighten themselves, then curve into letters.

The kanji for Fuji Syuusuke appeared across the paper in perfect artistic strokes. Though as the transformation occurred, a deep frown crept into the tensai's face. Something about that talisman had felt familiar. . . and very wrong. . .

"So what would happen," Atobe's voice turned strangely whimsical, "if, say, this was to be torn up?"

Fuji paled slightly, his fingers digging painfully into his palms as his hands tightened into fists. "I suppose. . . I would be sent back to whatever pole remained, probably instantaneously. I don't really... I'm not a complete existence, right now, so I would be trapped with whoever still knew my name. You, then, would fo-forget me like everyone else." Years of practice enabled him to keep his smile tightly on his face.

"Hm..." An almost predatory smile stretched across the diva's face as he eyed the little white paper one last time before slipping it back into his pocked.

"Come," Atobe waved haughtily. "I have something to show you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kankikujyunjou: this is just something I made up. I have no idea what this word would actually mean (hopefully not something too strange). I hope the explanation of what they do makes sense...


	7. C6: Taka-san's Memories (The Crush)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time line gets a little confusing here. It's best not to think about it too hard, but if you're wondering, several days pass when Fuji travels from St. Rudolph's to the street tennis court. The first little blip of this chapter happens the day before the last chapter. The second part happens in the afternoon on the day Fuji joins up with Atobe.

Evening dragged into a long night, though the air stayed stuffy and humid in the crowded sushi shop. Taka-san did his best to clear off tables as customers ran up bills and finished their tiresome work day with plenty of beer and sake. Eventually the business men started to dribble out, leaving only a few drunken stragglers or oddities that just seemed to be out late.

Since there weren't many customers left, and none that could taste what they ordered thanks to the alcohol, his dad let him take over for the night. Taka still worked at making the best possible sushi though, not wanting to let any chance at gaining experience slip past. He didn't worry too much about practice tomorrow; everyone had been so frazzled lately that none of their training had been very intense.

Taka supposed he should be disappointed, especially since his tennis career was coming to a close and he wanted to get the most out of his remaining time. But instead, he felt an odd sort of relief, like some sort of sadness had been lifted off of his shoulders.

Still, he hoped the club would soon return to its typical lively self. He felt as if lately, all the energy had been drained from Seigaku's tennis regulars, as if the source of their passion had faded away somehow. Oishi seemed anxious to the point of having a hernia, Inui hardly took notes, Ryouma kept ditching, and worst of all Eiji hadn't laughed in several days. Taka hated watching everyone suffer, but he couldn't figure out what to do to help. He couldn't even figure out what was wrong and no one else seemed to know either, not even Oishi when he asked him about it.

A sigh pushed from his lips as he turned his attention back to the bar. A woman who'd been there for over an hour asked for another drink, which his father handled before he headed off to the kitchen to wash more glasses, leaving Taka in charge.

He glanced down at the woman while cleaning one of the knives. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, dressed in an office woman's suit. Her auburn hair fell over her face, and she slowly swirled the liquid about her glass, occasionally taking a sip, as if trying to make it last a long time.

Something about the fragile way she held her glass, the slight lean of her hand that hinted at elegance, sparked something within Taka's mind and coated him with nostalgia. He caught himself staring at her, and she must have noticed him too because she looked up with red rimmed eyes and gave him a cheeky smile, swishing her drink in greeting.

"This is only my third, really," she croaked, taking another sip to clear her voice. "I'm not ready to go home." The edge of her mouth twitched. "Family problems, you know how it is." Laughing rather bitterly, she set down the glass and ordered uni nigiri.

Taka quickly glanced down, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment. He fumbled with the uni, preparing it and placing it over sushi rice. "Uh...um..." he finally mumbled, not sure what to say. After all, what was there to say? Slowly he lifted his eyes, taking in the face of the young woman who smiled listlessly at him.

Something about the way her cheeks rounded, the way her nose and chin were perfectly aligned, the worn out style of her hair, and tiny sparkle in her eyes made Taka realize that she was one of the prettiest women he had ever seen. She looked sort of familiar, too.

"You're staring again."

"Ah, sorry."

She laughed graciously as Taka's face turned into a tomato. "No need to apologize, it's a pleasure to have some attention even while looking like this."

Taka shook his head viciously. "Oh no, that's not true, you're very pretty."

More crystal laughter rang over the bar. "I'm glad someone still thinks so. I don't feel all that pretty myself lately." She took a large sip before smiling. "Tell me, what about me is pretty?"

"Oh, well..." Taka scratched the back of his head, feeling more comfortable at her openness. "Well, you remind me of an old crush."

"Is that so? And that makes me pretty?"

Taka felts his cheeks heat up. "Well, um... this guy was so beautiful... oh! uh..."

The woman laughed pleasantly. "It's fine. It's not so rare nowadays - and I would much rather discuss a beautiful Eros than a so-called Venus like me." She winked at him.

Taka nodded shyly, glad his slip didn't have any adverse consequences.

"So?" The woman smiled wickedly at him, cupping her glass in one hand. "What happened? Did you confess?"

Taka shook his head rapidly. "No, definitely not. I knew he was already in love with someone else." Cleaning off his knife, Taka just shrugged and tweaked a smile. "It's okay; I've already forgotten him."

As if he'd said the magic word, the woman's demeanor suddenly shifted, and she smiled softly at him, her lips spreading wide and her eyes growing gentle. "You shouldn't forget so easily. You need to treasure your memories. They're what connect you to others."

Hearing her words sparked a strange dysphoria within him, as if he had forgotten something that pained him, yet also brought him joy.

"O-oh. Maybe you're right."

His eyes stared at the counter that he had started to polish with a cloth, rubbing the same area over and over again in circles. Time drifted further into the night as the woman worked on her drink, nursing the last vestiges of the precious liquid as if hoping that more would appear.

"Hey," she finally said.

"Y-yeah?"

"What do you think makes a feeling exist?"

"Huh?" Taka just finished putting away the last of the utensils. All the other customers had left but he didn't have the heart to send the lady out just yet. "Um..."

A melancholy smile melted away his unease. "A feeling. An emotion... like, sadness." Her soft voice grew so light he had to strain to hear her. "Do you think, say, if everyone forgot how to be sad, that sadness would still exist?"

"Eh..." Taka scratched the back of his head. "Um... well... I don't know, really... eh... I don't understand complicated things all that well." He tucked away the last of the glasses, leaving only the one in the lady's hands.

He never was all that good at such philosophical-type stuff, that was more Oishi's department or maybe... the other one's, the one he'd had a crush on for almost two years.

Still, he thought he'd take a guess at it. The woman looked at him so curiously. "Um . . . let's see . . . sadness is sadness right? Eh...maybe not. I mean, if I didn't know what sadness was, I guess it might as well not even exist, I guess."

"Yeah..."

Silence covered them for a moment, as a strange twinkle reflected off the lady's dark blue eyes. After a moment, she continued, "What about envy? Jealousy? Obsession? Happiness? ... Love..."

"Um . . . " He wondered how he should deal with her. She was just so pretty, and he wasn't very good with drunks.

She shook her head. "No, it's nothing. I'm being a fool." She finished off her drink after a pause, then stood up to pay.

"Say," she stared down for the moment, as if considering something, "you're on the tennis team, right?"

"Eh? Oh, yes. I mean... oh... how did you-"

"Give this to your captain."

She handed him some bills and swiftly helped herself out. Taka looked down at the two twenties in his hand, and then untucked a small white paper that had been slipped between them. The paper was folded into a little origami man.

Unsure of what to do with something so small and silly, he fingered it a while then finally decided to tuck it away in his tennis bag. He'd give it to Tezuka tomorrow morning after practice and hope his captain wouldn't make him run too many laps. But something about the tiny paper told him that this was important. . .

* * *

Fuji felt as though they'd walked forever and yet they arrived at their destination all too soon. A heavy pit of dread sunk into his stomach the closer they came, though he wasn't sure why.

Before them loomed the all-too familiar school gate of Seishun Gakuen.

"Why are we here?" he said quietly.

Fingers pressed against his face, Atobe looked towards the tensai with sly, narrowed eyes. "You wanted to see your _precious_ Tezuka, right? He should still be here."

Fuji didn't know why, but something about that gaze made his blood run cold. "But Tezuka can't see me! He doesn't remember me."

"Yes," Atobe purred, his tight lipped smile widening. "He forgot you like everyone else. Don't you think that's saying something?"

Trying to steady his trembling lower lip, Fuji darkly inquired, "You said something like that before, too. Just what are you implying?"

Atobe slowly turned to face him directly, arms crossed in that authoritative, condescending manner he always had. "I would think it should be logically obvious." A smirk grew across his face as he pressed two fingers against his forehead. "You yourself said that the curse doesn't erase you completely, that some of your friends vaguely remember you. Yet Tezuka doesn't know anything. If you two were lovers, shouldn't he be the first to recall who you are?"

He chuckled, as if admiring Fuji's trembling silence. "Just think about it. How could you have meant anything to him? Perhaps you were no more than a bed accessory. Perhaps what Tezuka really hoped for was someone else."

Fuji's fingers clenched into his palms, yet he felt so sick he didn't notice the little trail of blood trickling down from where his nails cut into him. He swallowed back the taste of bile, overly aware of the imperial gaze being cast down upon him.

"I was. . ." he stuttered, anger dripping past his normally dampened tone. "I was serious. . . Tezuka wouldn't -"

"Stop fooling yourself." Dark blue eyes burned into the tensai. "You were no more than a temporary substitute for the one Tezuka really wants."

Everything about Fuji suddenly froze, except for his widening eyes. "Don't tell me, you-"

"Atobe?"

Both figures turned to glare at the abrupt interruption.

"Ah, it is you," the tall figure smiled nervously, scratching at the back of his head. "Um, what brings you over to Seigaku?"

Atobe turned almost menacingly towards the intruder. "You are. . .?"

"Kawamura Takashi," Fuji snapped. At least the diva could remember his teammate's names. But what was Taka-san doing at the school at this hour? Though whether this was good or bad timing the tensai wasn't sure but it wasn't as if the sushi chef in-training could see him or help him anyways.

"Ah yes, Kawamura," Atobe smoothed over, not giving the stocky player a chance to reply. "I'm here for Tezuka."

"Ah, Tezuka-buchou's in the club room," Taka-san chuckled timidly, "I just saw him there."

The diva's eyes narrowed accusingly. "You're here awfully late," he practically snorted.

"Oh, um. . ." Taka-san was inching away from the arrogant buchou bit by bit. "Um, I had something I forgot to do. . . .eh. . . I'm heading home now though. . ."

He looked back at the diva, who stood so pompously that even the trees seemed to stand a little straighter. From somewhere, a little bit of either courage or curiosity touched upon the double personalitied player. "Uh, so why are you looking for Tezuka?"

Atobe smirked, as if to say, well that's an easy one. "Not to be cliché, but Ore-sama has a rendezvous with destiny."

"Uh, oh." The shy boy rubbed at his hair, wondering if he should ask. Something about the wind, about the thickness of the air, about the ice cold touch that brushed against his arm, set a click off in his mind. "Okay," he said, as if he'd come to understand something. He seemed about to go, then turned back. "Atobe. . . san?"

" _Yes?_ " The diva hissed. He'd been delayed long enough.

"Um, I . . . I just have to tell you. It's okay if these things don't work out."

" _What_ things?" A tapping foot showed the affluent captain's growing impatience.

"Um, well, um . . . I mean, they didn't work out for me, and I'm fine now. I have someone else, and I'm happy. Um . . . I just have to tell you, it's alright if it doesn't work out, there's no real destiny behind -"

"Hmph," Atobe arrogantly flicked back his hair. "I don't know what you're babbling on about. I've wasted enough time chatting with plebeians already."

He strutted turgidly away, taking about ten steps before turning back to say, "Out of the graciousness of Ore-sama's heart I will give you a little advice. When you desire someone, you must do anything, go to any lengths, no matter how dark, obscure, or unfeasible, to show that person the truth."

Taka-san blinked questioningly. "The truth?"

"That you are meant to be together. That it's destiny. That he must not be deceived by. Falsities."

"Atobe..san, what you're saying is-"

"Well I suppose that a proletarian such as yourself can not understand. When Ore-sama has something he wants, then it is meant to be his." Atobe swiftly turned away, effectively cutting the conversation.

Fuji found himself drifting along after the diva, glancing back to see Taka-san still standing there a bit dumbfounded, and with a gleam in his eyes of - pity? But the tensai didn't have time to worry about his teammate.

"Atobe!" Fuji yelled, quickly catching up to him. He hadn't been able to say much during the exchange, angered by Atobe's rudeness yet even more surprised by Taka-san's audacity while not in burning mode. But through said exchange, everything was now clear.

Piercing the diva's face with the full force of his cerulean eyes, his voice came out hard and without any hesitation. "This is - you - you're after Tezuka!"

"Why, of course." The diva shot him an imperious smirk, inviolable to the usually devastating glare. "Haven't you figured out that much already?"

Atobe Keigo stood coolly before him, speaking with the absolute confidence he'd been handed at birth.

"Tezuka belongs to me."


	8. C7: Atobe's Memories (The Hindrance)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atobe's Memories
> 
> ~ The Hindrance ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Tessa for beta-ing this fic, it was her pokes that got me to finish it.

"Tezuka belongs to me." Atobe watched him with cool, calculating eyes and his fingers pressed against his face, mocking the shadowy youth before him.

Fuji stared back in frozen horror. He wasn't sure what shocked him more: Atobe's deception or his absolute confidence. But flashing back through the events of the past few hours, Fuji felt more and more the fool.

"You-"

"Tricked? Deceived? Hn. I was given an opportunity, and I took it. This is a basic rule amongst business men." A smirk spread across his antagonist's face, one that shone with elitism.

Fuji bit at the edge of his tongue. He was _such_ a fool; how could he have not seen through the diva's bad acting? Yet, he had wanted so badly to be seen, to be remembered by someone, to still be acknowledged as existing. . . and then it hit him. That had probably been Atobe's intention all along.

"You set me up," he growled, his brain ticking rapidly away. He couldn't think very well when he was depressed, but when he was angry, he was brilliant. And right now he was very, very angry. "You planned this out with Mizuki. Everything you told me earlier was a lie."

"Not everything," Atobe said airily, curling his hair up with his fingers. "My family's onmyouji really did help me, with the technicalities and all. Did you really think that twit from St. Rudolph could have managed this by himself?"

Atobe stepped forward, causing Fuji to back into the tennis court fences that they had somehow already reached. He cringed as the diva leaned towards him, glaring down at him with narrowed eyes.

"I love Tezuka in a way you never could, Fuji Syuusuke," he sneered. "My love is so much greater than yours, and I won't allow you to deceive him any longer."

He turned back towards the path, leaving Fuji trembling against the fence. Though whether he was trembling out of fear or anger, the tensai himself wasn't sure. His blue eyes pierced at his antagonist's backside, quivering with sharp, intense emotion.

The diva paused, finally noticing he wasn't being followed, and turned back slightly, passing Fuji a cruel smirk. "Come," he ordered, a glint in his eyes as he waved his hand as if tugging on a leash.

Fuji almost yelped as his body was pulled forward, just as it had when Mizuki had motioned him forward. Though now the control was so much stronger . . . the spell was almost complete, Fuji realized in horror.

"Soon I'll take the look in Tezuka's eyes that was pointed at you. . ." Atobe continued, albeit more softly, as if speaking to himself.

Hopelessness covered the tensai's body and clouded into his mind, until he could no longer hear the diva's endless declarations of love and victory over Tezuka.

The door to the club house was before them.

* * *

Those long days of yearning were finally at their end, Atobe could just feel it. All the want, all the need, all the desires that had built up over the past year were now fading into the present . . .

During his second year of middle school he first heard about the stoic tennis prince who'd whipped the courts at Seigaku and was tearing up the junior high tennis scene. A second year like himself, Tezuka Kunimitsu was rumored to control the ball as God controlled the weather, while bearing as little an expression as a stone Buddha.

Atobe didn't buy a word of it. In a nation desperate to break even small waves on the international tennis domain, prodigal hopes were a dime a dozen, and from the tournaments he'd attended so far, Tachibana Kippei and Sanada Genichirou seemed far closer to the real thing.

And of course, he himself was among the royals when it came to potential and talent. Some accused him of being egotistical and pretentious, but he only proclaimed he was good because he was. At Hyoutei he rose unparalleled as the club's ace, easily succeeding their captain who only kept onto his position because he held seniority. Even their draconian coach, Sakaki, acknowledged his skill and often placed Atobe in the singles one spot.

Then, at that year's Kantou tournament, he finally saw him. Tezuka Kunimitsu. The real thing.

He _was_ the real thing. He was all the rumors said and more. Atobe kept his Insight active almost throughout the entire game between Tezuka and the captain. For the first time ever, he found himself cursing his coach for placing him in singles one instead of singles two where a vice captain belonged. Never before had he seen such grace in handling the ball, such passion in the stroke of the racket. And yet, Tezuka's face never once changed, his lips remained taught in frowning, his eyes hidden behind thin rimmed glasses.

Atobe didn't know what he wanted to watch more: the game or that face. The game was alright, Tezuka was amazing, but with a pathetic opponent like Hyotei's captain the brilliance of the bespectacled man remained shaded. Atobe's right hand ached to grasp a racket, to rip his foolish sempai off the court and draw out Tezuka's true power, the true magnificence that Atobe knew only he was worthy of facing, that he alone was destined to defeat.

But one thing held him back, or rather, it dampened his fighting spirit with another emotion, a more rapacious one. Watching that lineless face, that stern expression coupled with a pulsing emotion pouring into his game, something inside Atobe stirred that he had never known he possessed. For the first time, he wanted to watch someone, wanted to _notice_ someone other than himself. He wanted to see more of Tezuka's tanned skin, slightly pearled with sweat, past those delicate golden frames, which he certainly could smash away in an instant, revealing clearly those deep hazel orbs, the ones he realized swirled with emotion. Tezuka Kunimitsu had no expression because all his passion concentrated in his eyes, more potent than an aphrodisiac, more stimulating than a complete orchestration of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. Atobe wanted to reach out and smooth those rambunctious brown strands of hair, massage away the powerful tension strained within those well-shaped muscles.

He wanted Tezuka Kunimitsu.

Atobe smirked quietly to himself, wondering if this was the first thing he'd ever wanted that he couldn't easily buy.

Despite the victory of their champion, Seigaku had lost to Hyoutei (thanks to Atobe's own brilliance, of course) and exited the tournament. Over the next year he'd watched Seigaku's vice captain at any chance he got, at any sort of minor non-league tournament Tezuka entered or friendly matches between schools that he could unsuspiciously attend. A few of his friends noticed his unusual interest, and he'd shrugged them off, pointing out that he'd finally found an adequate rival, someone he aimed to defeat.

That was half of the truth, but the other half was that he just wanted to watch him... watch Tezuka, watch Tezuka's movements, watch Tezuka's body as he moved, watch Tezuka's body and store it in his memory so that when he lay in bed, he had a fairly accurate picture to day dream with, imagining whatever hot things made him come. He was above masturbating - he always had some girl or some guy willing, sometimes even begging for him to do them, and he'd use Tezuka's image as a medium just to get hard. Then it was Tezuka beneath him, Tezuka's warmth holding him, Tezuka he was inside of and Tezuka who he made scream. He usually kicked his partner out right after he orgasmed, since he never wanted to cuddle or do anything to remind him that it wasn't really Tezuka afterall.

Atobe decided not to make a move right away. Ore-sama's prowess was undeniable, of that he was certain, but Tezuka was no push over; if he was, Atobe wouldn't have been so interested. He knew better than to underestimate the tower of iron for whom he planned to an amour. He decided to wait until the day he defeated Seigaku's star and then claim him for his own.

His dream - no, his plan finally came to fruition during their senior year when Atobe finally faced his ultimate rival at the fateful Kantou tournament. On the other end of the court, separated only by a thin net, stood Tezuka Kunimitsu, watching and waiting with mutual intense interest. Simply the touch of hands at the game's opening sent warmth into Atobe's length, and his smile broadened at the thrill of playing in a double innuendo.

He would make his move after his victory.

Their match that day even now was considered legendary. The small win Atobe managed seemed unbelievable even to him. . . Tezuka had in no way failed to disappoint. If anything, the diva found that despite having the extra tie breaking point, he couldn't declare utter victory in triumph.

But that didn't matter. He won. He'd beaten Tezuka at tennis. He'd earned his right to claim Tezuka as his own.

He neared the stoic brunette after the match, while all other eyes focused on Hiyoshi and that Seigaku freshman. He prepared in his head how best to make his declaration. . . but when he approached the other team, he saw Fuji Syuusuke, the lithe tensai who'd swiftly and effortlessly beaten Jiroh, take Tezuka aside, his expression and gestures clearly overcome with worry.

Of course, Atobe was above spying, but even though he simply followed after them, they didn't notice him, since their eyes stayed only on each other. The two then slipped behind some empty bleachers around an unused tennis court, barely out of view.

A few steps to the right, and Atobe felt his blood instantly begin to boil. There, in broad daylight, that bitch of a tensai shamelessly made out with Tezuka, the one who should have been his, who should have admitted his defeat and brought Atobe's fantasies into reality.

Feelings of anger, betrayal, and jealousy raged within him, tearing fiercely at him even more so then when he learned of Hyotei's overall loss and exit from the tournament. When he returned home for the night, he ordered one of his classmates who was always ready to fuck to come to him, and screwed the poor kid hard. Yet, he couldn't come and was left feeling unsatisfied; he couldn't picture Tezuka anymore without picturing that damn Fuji kissing him as well.

He kicked his classmate out - he didn't even know the guy's name - and began tearing his sheets to pieces, ripping apart the pure Chinese silk, and pounding up the pillows until finally, he was so exhausted that he collapsed onto the ruined mattress and passed straight out into sleep.

Even in his dreams, that image of Seigaku's team lined up at the end of the matches was etched into his mind. Standing next to Tezuka was Fuji Syuusuke, watching him with that infuriating smile, that smile that said, 'He's mine. I won. You can't have him because I'm here.'

'You can't win.'

It was hardly a week after that that his family's onmiyouji approached Atobe with a proposal.

* * *

The door for him was finally open. No more substitutes. Tezuka would finally be his.

"You'll be staying out here," he announced to Fuji, while slipping the talisman out of his shirt pocket. "It would be bad for you if I tore this up, ahn?" He waved the tiny paper between his fingers, the kanji for Fuji Syuusuke waving flimsily with it. Only those few characters allowed Fuji to escape from Mizuki. The diva turned his back to the tensai and the glaring blue orbs that burned with anguish.

Atobe swept into the club room, allowing his prowess to fill the tiny space, eyes flickering only slightly when Tezuka entered his vision.

Seigaku's buchou sat calmly and quietly on one of the benches, legs crossed with some sort of paperwork set upon the knee, which the brunette dutifully filled out. He glanced up at Atobe's entrance and gave no more notion of disturbance than if a leaf had floated by. That perfect, stoic expression never changed.

Tilting his head to the side in slight acknowledgement, Tezuka meticulously set his papers to the side and rose to stand on par with Atobe.

"May I help you?" he finally said, as if Atobe were just one more common visitor to Seigaku's tennis abode.

Forced to stay outside, Fuji watched in devastation as Atobe approached the one he loved. He couldn't hold back his anxiety especially since he could barely hear what transpired beyond the club room's window.

After all, Tezuka didn't remember him; he didn't remember he had a boyfriend, so he had no reason to turn down Atobe's advances.

Fuji focused the last of his power so that he could hear past the glass.

" - will suite both of us," Atobe was saying.

The diva then swiftly closed the gap between Tezuka and himself, forcing the stoic buchou to press against the wall in order to avoid physical contact.

"No more substitutes, Tezuka."

Trapped just beyond the glass, the fair haired tensai watched with disdain in his eyes. He was terrified of Atobe stealing away Tezuka, but at the same time, anger rode through his veins. Even if Tezuka did not love him, he wouldn't have done something as pathetic as using Fuji as a substitute. What Atobe had said was absolutely insulting. For what Fuji loved most about Tezuka was his pride.

Inside, the two captains stared each other down. Tezuka quirked an eyebrow, still looking as calm as ever.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Atobe snorted, that haughty smirk stretching instantaneously across his face.

"I'm saying we should date."

He lifted Tezuka's chin with his fingers and looked at him straight in the eyes.

"Tezuka, will you go out with me?"

Surprised etched its way onto Tezuka's face, his eyes widening just a little. After a long pause, Tezuka finally replied,

"Atobe . . . are you asking me out on a date?"

Atobe chuckled. "I'm asking for more than just a date." His hand slipped down Tezuka's jacket, pressing lightly against his side, as if cupping in his body. "We should be lovers, you and I."

Another long pause followed, along with narrowing hazel eyes and a long sigh. Tezuka covered Atobe's sneaking hand with his own, and pulled it away while saying, "I'm sorry, but I don't think of you that way. Let's just -"

"Don't treat me like some girl, Tezuka," Atobe growled. "I know your preference." He tried to replace his hand, but Tezuka somehow moved sideways along the wall to avoid it. "We fit together," the diva continued. "Top of our class, captains, student body president. Our composure, our ability at tennis... "

"I'm sorry. I'm not interested."

_Few words as always, Tezuka,_ thought Fuji. He loved the tacit, minimalist side of Tezuka, but sometimes he found it painful, never to hear those important words from his lover's mouth...

"Tezuka," Atobe sounded irritated, almost angry. "What is it you want? You don't realize my family's net worth. My position as heir... the things I could give you. The life we could share. . . . If you're connected to me, you'll never have any hardships. Your family, your education, your career . . . yes, tennis, all will be sponsored for you."

Tezuka merely shook his head.

The diva was growing angry at Tezuka's rejection. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Tezuka was supposed to realize that he loved him. That Atobe loved Tezuka and that Tezuka surely loved Atobe as well. That they were perfect together. That they were destined to be together.

"I'll give you anything!" he almost screamed, wanting to shake the silent man before him. Why didn't Tezuka get it?! "I'll give you Japan!"

Tezuka didn't respond, his frown only growing tighter. Atobe couldn't understand why Tezuka wasn't agreeing, wasn't smiling at him the way the stoic man had smiled at Fuji, especially now that Fuji was gone... the diva felt his heart sinking. He was serious.

In one swift move of desperation, Atobe quickly leaned forward and pressed his lips against the youth before him.

Fuji lost his ability to breath as he helplessly watched Atobe connect to Tezuka, who only stood there with his arms folded, not responding, not moving, not stopping the assault on his lips, not... kissing back, Fuji realized.

For Atobe, the kiss lasted forever and yet ended in an instant.

He couldn't understand it. He couldn't understand why Tezuka wasn't returning his kiss, wasn't falling to the heat of his prowess. The stoic being didn't even move. He stood as still and stony as Buddha's statue, not even a twitch of his lips in response to the warmth the diva tried to convey.

A soft wind could have blown by and moved Tezuka more than he was at that moment. He was so apathetic, so indifferent to Atobe's despondence as he pulled away, that even Fuji felt a small twinge of pity for the diva. His feelings were obviously so passionate and yet rejected so coldly.

". . . Why?" Atobe's inquiry echoed quietly in the small club room. "Why aren't you accepting me?" His voice rose with trembling anger. "How can you not want me?! We're _perfect_ for each other!"

"Because I don't love you," Tezuka said flatly, in his normal, stoic way. "I'm sorry, but I can't force myself to return your feelings. It wouldn't be fair to you, either."

Pushed back by that cold, aloof hazel gaze, the diva took a few crestfallen steps away from the wall.

"...Wouldn't be fair..." A bitter, curling laugh rippled across the stale air. Suddenly Atobe couldn't stop laughing, running out of breath at the irony of such a statement.

_He can't love you, Atobe,_ Fuji thought wistfully, _he doesn't even love me..._ The tensai watched with desolate eyes as Atobe slumped from the club room. Tezuka remained still and aloof, with less variance in expression than a Noh mask.

Fuji pitied them both for loving such a man.

The door slammed shut, loudly and somehow tiredly, shocking the light haired youth out of his thoughts.

Immediately Atobe glared at him, though his eyes shook with something akin to jealous anger, red rimmed and horribly jaded.

"I lose to you."

His voice was cold, yet burning at the same time. A wretched desire for some sort of relief, some sort of retribution to soothe away the searing pain of the rejection gurgled up inside him.

"Now, you're no more then a bitter memory." His lips drew slowly up into a bitter smirk. "One that I don't need to remember..."

Atobe drew the small sliver of paper from his pocket, the kanji for Fuji Syuusuke flashing tauntingly between them.

Fuji's eyes widened in horror as the diva spitefully tore the talisman in two.

"No!" Fuji's scream accompanied the motion of his fingers as he reached out to grip the last floating pieces of his freedom torn away by the ripping breeze. But the spell quickly took affect as his last chain to the outside world snapped. His translucent body completely faded as his spirit was pulled away, and all of the tensai's senses fell to pure and utter darkness.

Cold and alone in his rival's school grounds, Atobe straightened with a meager bit of painful satisfaction. He felt like he had just gotten revenge for something, but he couldn't remember what...


	9. C8: Mizuki's Memories (The Desire)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mizuki's Memories
> 
> ~ The Desire ~

Everything was falling into place.

The one he desired drew closer even as he arranged the paper strips around his room, the ones _that man_ had given him, endued with spiritual power. They were the final component of the web he had long ago begun to weave, some of the many arms of cursed darkness he had used to pull his target towards him. And like a spider, he could sense his prey was tangled in his lair, kicking and fluttering but only succeeding in tightening the tendrils wrapped around him.

Fuji Syuusuke, the one he'd intensely observed with ruinous obsession, would now belong to Mizuki Hajime.

Since Atobe _finally_ allowed the tensai's existence to fade from his mind, Fuji had fallen to even less of a tangible existence. Now only Mizuki could clearly remember the fair-haired youth. Fuji existed only for him.

Fuji was his.

Mizuki knew that he would surely pay a price for playing with such darkness. The curse he'd viciously cast worked incredibly well, more so than he'd imagined it possibly could. Even Yuuta had forgotten his own older brother and gone about school and practice as usual, albeit a bit more agitated. Though, even the brunette's irascibility disappeared after just a few days. The world continued to spin like normal, unnoticing and uncaring that one of its occupants had simply ceased to exist.

The small part of him called his conscience warned that anything so unnatural would incur retribution, but he ignored it like he always did. He knew his soul was already slipping away.

Even before that man had taught him the black arts, he'd become desperate in his attempts to grasp, to understand Fuji Syuusuke. He wanted the ability to predict the prodigy's reactions, like he could everyone else's, and it frustrated him to no end that his data always turned out wrong. The tensai not only did the opposite of whatever he expected, but would do everything he couldn't imagine, couldn't even believe.

Actually, when that man explained the curse, Mizuki balked it off. He didn't quite disbelieve in magic; he knew enough about fortune telling and séance to know it wasn't all hocus pocus. But he believed such supernatural intervention came with a price tag, a black, blood-stained one, and had refused it out of caution.

But Fuji Syuusuke continued to slip from his fingers, again and again. He _needed_ to know more. The obsession clawed vigorously at him, a monstrous shadow growing in his belly, spilling through his pores and becoming the eyes on every move, every shift, every breath the tensai took. Even the tiniest motion of brushing his hair back with his fingers entered the recordings; all contributed to the generation of an absolute scenario.

But it was never enough.

He couldn't predict when the tensai was going to win; he couldn't predict when the tensai was going to lose, either, since he seemed to do both on a whim. Official matches he mostly always won of course, but Mizuki could never calculate how, or what sort of moves he would use.

Outside of tennis Fuji was even more of an enigma, always dancing lightly in his relationships with his friends and family. He claimed he loved them, then would turn around and torment them with wasabi or Inui's strange juices, or tease them in subtle, clever ways about anything he could. He didn't even spare his secret lover, Tezuka, from his sadistic habits.

That relationship had been easy to uncover. Though the tensai kept everything else in his life well and carefully hidden, those two were constantly falling into make-out sessions, often at the most inconvenient times and in public places, as if purposely tempting fate to discover them and expose them to public opinion. Still, Mizuki mused, they never got caught, well, at least not by those who would tattle. He himself never cared to spread rumors since it simply wasn't important.

Tezuka didn't interest him. Mizuki easily accepted that no one in St. Rudolph could beat the unparalleled tennis player, even knowing his weaknesses, and since they played team matches anyways he simply threw that one away. He didn't bother to collect any data on the tennis captain, other than his connection to the tensai.

Still, their relationship... amused him in a way, and that man had explained that Fuji's love for the stoic brunette would be the key to completing the curse. Ironic, he mused, that love would be the propellant for darkness.

He hardly knew _that man_ : why he was helping Atobe and him, or even his name, only that that man was a master of puppets. Mizuki knew this much at least because he was the same way, always trying to manipulate and control the people around him. It went along with the saying, 'takes one to know one.'

Atobe spent so much energy prancing on his high elitist stool and believing himself to be so perfect and wonderful that he couldn't see when he was being controlled. That man clearly planned everything, even while Atobe acted like he was the one calling the shots, deciding when and how to activate the curse, and what roles the two of them would play in it. The diva never noticed the puppet strings tied around his wrists and ankles, silently twisting and tweaking his actions.

Mizuki saw his own strings clearly but didn't mind. He would use anything, anyone in order to accomplish his goals, even allow himself to be used by another if it meant he could use that person in return. Yes, the puppet could dance without the puppeteer, and he knew that man needed someone with strong, powerful feelings in order to fuel the curse.

Between Mizuki and Atobe, the required energy was provided, and everyone would get what they wanted.

Theoretically.

Mizuki knew enough from his data that Atobe would not be successful in his voyage for Tezuka. The frozen captain of Seigaku melted for only one, and even if Fuji disappeared from the Spartan's mind, it was highly improbably the diva could slide in the empty crack.

So Mizuki didn't mind waiting until the elitist finished his tryst with the tensai; it was only a matter of time before Atobe destroyed the talisman he had, the extra pole that allowed Fuji a small range of freedom to escape from him.

After so many days, the diva made his move, and the scene played out in accordance with Mizuki's scenario.

The only talisman now left was Mizuki's.

The time had finally come.

His control was complete.

* * *

Darkness lifted like a curtain, leaving thin, veiled outlines in the dim, shaded room. Fuji could barely make out his surroundings, though wherever he had appeared after his erratic travel through time-space was hardly lit. If it was day, the sun was denied, and if it was night, the moon was refused its usual spying. Time itself had been barred entrance to the tiny place. Only tiny candles, placed in the room's four corners, flickered tauntingly and hardly cast even shadows.

A strange weight wrapped around the tensai's body, holding him in place. Chains, he realized, heavy steel with thick links, lay across the back and front of his legs, forcing him to stay on his knees, and wrapped around his arms and chest, keeping him still. His skin prickled at the cold touch of metal, and for the first time he became aware of the absence of any cloth covering him. He realized he was completely naked.

Completely vulnerable.

And then he heard it, the soft breathing, the shifting of shadows, and realized he was not alone in the room.

He let out a trembling breath, and asked in a quiet voice what he already knew, "Who..."

"You know who, Fuji Syuusuke," came Mizuki's ratty voice. His sharp, presuming tone sent fearful tremors through the tensai's body.

". . . Where am I?" Pride urged him to hide his fear, and he bit the edge of his tongue to stop it from shaking.

His inquiry was met with a chuckle, that horrible gurgle the obsidian haired youth always made. "Does it really matter? Finally, you are mine alone."

A cold, dry hand stroked slowly down his spine, drawing an involuntary shudder from the lithe youth. Fuji's stomach churned at the light touch, tightening and making him feel ill.

"You exist only for me."

Fuji bit the inside of his lip, focusing on the pain and denying his body any chance to rebel. "You're a creep," he mustered, glad his voice came out far more sharply than he felt.

"Perhaps, but at least I'm opaque," Mizuki chuckled, while twirling his hair with his fingers, "which is far better than some people."

"You did this to me."

The fashion zealot smirked at his prey, enjoying the way small goose bumps appeared on the tensai's skin wherever he touched. "I would like to take credit, but actually I had quite a bit of help, if that makes you feel any better."

Fuji squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to ignore the fingers grazing the back of his neck and along his shoulders. "Why are you doing this?"

The smirk dulled a little, then grew into a twisted grin. It seemed the tensai was always a tensai and no curse could strip him of such a title. Mizuki should have had the upper hand; he had complete control over the youth, and even without the chains, Fuji would have to follow any action Mizuki bound him to. And yet the tensai boldly questioned him as if the manager had no choice but to honestly answer.

Always defying prediction. Always.

It was so beautiful...

"Why? Nfu, this is why." Mizuki's icy hands drifted across his captive's back, sordidly caressing the tense muscles below his shoulders. "You resist me. You deny me. You refuse to give me your data." He touched, here, there, lightly but not overly invasive. He wanted the youth off guard. His efforts were soon rewarded when the normally imperceptible youth shuddered under his caress. He was so close, so close to victory.

Fuji wanted to scream but no sound came out. His body involuntarily shuddered. He breathed out sobbing gasps, his throat constricted and left him without retort. The graze along his nape left him feeling poisoned, violated.

"I've been watching you." Petting the sleek curve of the tensai's neck, the smirking youth continued, "more than you could possible know. I know more facts about your life than you probably know yourself."

He paused expectantly, taking Fuji's silence as an invitation to go on.

"It's addicting, you know, always watching the same person. Always taking notes on you, always processing data on you, always thinking about you. You'd think I'd grow bored of it, and yet, you always manage to keep me entertained."

He leaned down, his hands firmly gripping the tensai's shoulders as he closed in. Fuji caught of wiff of mints and felt the warmth of exhaled breath on the back of his neck as Mizuki whispered into his ear, "Whenever I wasn't watching you, life was slow, surreal, and felt rather pointless."

He drew his index along the rim of his captive's earlobe, admiring the curve and feel of soft skin. "I've grown to need you, Syuusuke. I've grown to want you."

The chains rattled, their sound echoing in time with the beating of Fuji's heart. Mizuki's voice was soft and blaring at the same time.

"My desire can no longer be denied."


	10. C9: Tezuka's Memories (The Beloved)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tezuka's Memories
> 
> ~ The Beloved ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Tessa, my amazing beta-er. -chuus-

If his head would stop pounding, maybe he could focus on practice and find excuses to make those responsible for his raging migraine run laps.

Tezuka was having, as they say, a bad day. Or more accurately, several bad days. Lately, the team had grown sluggish, lethargic, and unruly. Several members continuously showed up late, or skipped practice altogether. They still followed his commands as he barked out fierce levels of punishments, but the moment his back was turned he'd hear whispers drifting around the courts. Despite the perfectly blue weather, a dark cloud seemed to hang over the regulars. Even Oishi, who was usually reliable, seemed depressed.

The bespectacled brunette could correct mistakes in tennis form, but he was clueless when it came to human emotions. Usually, some of the other regulars would bring light to practice, even on the foggiest of days. Kikumaru, with his annoying but admittedly cheerful banter, would clown around and bring out the ever effective cure of laughter. But the redhead had turned snappy, his usually bright face marred by a frown. He'd been... pouty, and he kept giving Tezuka what the girls would call dirty looks. As if Tezuka was to blame for whatever cold wind had taken over the tennis club. Oishi hadn't been helpful either, and the captain could almost swear his adjunct was avoiding him. Inui seemed to be obsessing over something lately, busily scribbling in his notebook every second he wasn't running laps, and he did something Tezuka had never seen in three years; he'd tear pages out and throw them away.

Kaido hadn't changed much, being as sullen as ever, which of course did nothing to help the overburdened captain. Momoshiro had tried, at first, to lighten the mood with some of his jokes, but Echizen had taken him aside and said a few words. Since then, the second year stayed quiet. And Kawamura seemed to fade into the background more than ever, showing up right on time and leaving promptly at the end of practice to help at his father's restaurant.

Worst off was Echizen. The freshman prodigy seemed bored and completely unmotivated, turning into the biggest sloth at practice. He kept falling asleep and coming in late, no matter how many laps Tezuka assigned him to run. His play had fallen to pieces, and though he still beat everyone he played, his lack of concentration was rapidly becoming a horrific regularity.

Today seemed to be the worst yet. As always, Tezuka showed up first in the locker room, but within five minutes Inui appeared besides him. The tall data collected looked frustrated again, and Tezuka's eye twitched as he noticed Inui intensely watching him. Of course, Inui had always watched him, but this was to new levels... the constant stares and scribbles were almost vicious.

The club members sauntered in at their usual pace but the rest of the regulars, Seigaku's supposed pride and joy, all showed up late. Only Takashi offered a word of apology, saying a shipment of fish had come in late. When Tezuka sent them off to run laps, Kikumaru almost snapped his refusal, but a touch on his shoulder from Oishi led the redhead to trudge after the others. Sighing, Tezuka noticed the acrobat skipped a few of his laps. He let it go.

As if by tacit agreement, no one said anything when Echizen showed up ten minutes before the end of practice. This time the freshman didn't bother to offer an excuse and ran laps on his own until the bell rung.

Tezuka never corrected anyone's form. It was all terrible to the point it couldn't be fixed.

Classes started with their usual drudgery. Lunch was a bother, so Tezuka quickly ate in the student council room before headed to the principle's office to discuss some paperwork from the last meeting. He was waiting outside the teacher's lounge, his face set in stone, when he felt it.

His eye twitched, but other than that, he showed no reaction as Inui's glass-sheathed eyes bored holes through his messy brown hair. Every motion, every twitch, every shift of his weight was being examined and recorded by the data obsessed rival. He couldn't even stand calmly in a hallway without being observed like a test specimen.

He hated this. He might have seemed indifferent on the outside, but he hated the excess of attention, hated his orders being ignored, hated not having the support of his teammates, who, though he would not admit it, he had come to consider as his friends.

He felt like Inui was waiting for him to break and wanted to catch every possible glimpse through the cracks of a crumbling facade.

But there was simply no facade to crumble. Tezuka was the same as always. Aloof, unbreakable - a lone diamond in a sea of multi-colored stones - the hardest, strongest being, yet completely void of color... vacant of all superfluous emotion... empty... alone.

Evening practice was hard to get through. It followed the same pattern as the morning, but now Tezuka was tired and annoyed. He heard Kikumaru giggling with some of the second years, but when he turned to reprimand them, the redhead slashed him with another dirty look. This was all on _purpose_ , Tezuka realized. The acrobat was _trying_ to make him angry.

Before the twitch on his forehead grew into a popping vein, Oishi tapped his shoulder with an apologetic, guilty look.

"Sorry... about Eiji. Please just, let it go for today."

Tezuka nodded his consent but sighed internally. The few times Oishi had bothered to talk to him, he'd been given lengthy, dreary lectures on various problems the club had, or rival teams causing problems, or things that Tezuka had no a clue about. He was sure he hadn't done anything wrong, but he didn't want to hear another rant about how Eiji was only doing his best to cope with whatever problems the acrobatic redhead had. . . and Inui was watching him again.

Why were they all bothering him? He just wanted to be left alone. The thoughts were eating him again. . . the images, the epiphanies and rationalizations that came to him at home, when he lay awake during another sleepless night, the flurry of reasoning that led him to consider the darkest of things...

Why couldn't they just accept that life was null and get over it?

Sometimes he wasn't sure why _he_ couldn't get over it. He stood silent, he stood still, he stood stoic, because there was no other way he felt propelled to be. Quite recently he'd begun to wonder why he even bothering standing at all. His life was already vapid, his body nugatory... why did he need to keep existing?

He pushed the thoughts away, his expression never changing. Since when had he begun to think like this? Forever? Just now? Time itself seemed meaningless...

Another dirty look from the redhead flashed his way, and this time, he wasn't going to put up with it. He assigned Kikumaru forty laps and to pick up all the balls in place of the freshman. He signed, ignoring Oishi's protests, and left to wash his face.

By the time he returned to the locker rooms, which was almost twenty minutes later, the rest of the team was gone. They had dismissed themselves early, most likely, once they guessed he wasn't coming back. Ryuuzaki-sensei was out again.

He settled on one of the benches, pulling out some paper work he had to go over for the student council. Even alone, he never let his guard down, not in such a semi-public place. He didn't want to go home yet.

"A-ano..."

Tezuka glanced up, annoyance fading as he recognized the timid voice of their gentle power player.

"Kawamura," he said in acknowledgement. This was his way of asking what the other was still doing here, though only his mother would have known of the unspoken words.

"Er...um, I was- was told to give this to you." The tall brunette shoved something into his hand, then quickly left.

Not that Tezuka would have said anything anyways.

In his palm was a tiny fold of paper, which at first he thought only a scrap, but upon inspection he saw it was origami. The tiny paper man, folded simply yet beautifully, was a reminder of the perfection that could be achieved in such a small way. His lips twitched slightly upwards but quickly faded back into a frown.

He went back to his paperwork after tucking it into his bag. He wasn't sure what the sushi chef to-be had wanted by handing him such a token, but he appreciated it. He had a feeling it was important.

No more than ten minutes passed when he heard the door swing open.

He glanced up to see the last person on earth he felt like dealing with right then. Standing with his hands on his hips, nose upturned as if he expected the very air to bow down to him, Atobe Keigo strolled towards him with all the imperial dignity of his finances.

Tezuka acknowledged the other with a tilt of his head, his face unchanging. At the moment, he was too tired to feel annoyed, or curious, or anything really. Setting aside his paperwork, he politely stood and asked his rival, "May I help you?"

"Actually," the diva smirked, "I came here _just_ so you could help me."

"Excuse me?" His tone was flat as ever.

"Tezuka, it doesn't seem to surprise you that I'm here-"

 _Actually, it does_ , Tezuka thought, _I'm just not showing it_. Outwardly, he quirked an eyebrow.

"-So I'll be straight forward," the other continued with a wave of his hand, "as I'm sure we both prefer. I know you are already awed by my greatness-"

 _How is this straight forward?_ Tezuka thought.

"-and therefore I have come with a proposal that I know will suite both of us."

He paused, but when he saw Tezuka wasn't going to say anything, he stepped forward, forcing the solemn youth back into the wall. Grimacing, Tezuka felt his chest sink as he realized this conversation would be long...

* * *

After properly removing his shoes and changing from his uniform, he collapsed onto his bed. Silence flooded the room and house, as empty and voiceless as he felt when surrounded by students at school. He felt much more comfortable here, surrounded by nothing but walls, no watching eyes or expectant faces pressing down on him.

His strength, his role as the pillar had always placed him at the center, the one to be relied on, the one who was dependable. He'd never minded this stance, that is, until a week or two ago. He'd woken up one morning and felt as if the foundation below him had vanished; and yet everyone still expected him, the heaviest column, to continue to stand.

He didn't know what caused it, or why it had happened, only that lately, he felt horribly sick inside. A black, heady sickness that boiled up from the depths of his subconscious, a cold empty loneliness that gripped him and drained away his life. At school he ignored it, remained stoic and solemn, but at home, he was too tired to fight it. Life felt so meaningless, so pointless. He felt like he was dying, like the whole world was decaying and he along with it. Sometimes he would just lie in his bed, covered with the feeling of tiny marbles running underneath his skin, weighing his limbs down so that he couldn't move, as if his every muscle had been frozen onto the mattress.

Sometimes he'd wake up in the middle of the night surrounded by black light, a surreal darkness darker than a starless night. He'd imagine, in those helpless, lonely hours, blood pooling from his wrists, hands dipped in warm water, the relief when his mind finally shut down. He'd researched it on-line, different methods, techniques; he'd even walked around a convenience store and confirmed they had everything he would need.

Yet every morning he pulled himself up, made it to practice and to his meetings, attended classes and finished his homework. Perhaps he was too much of a coward to carry through. His parents, his friends, his reputation, everything would start flashing at him and he'd go back to being his usual, Spartan self, confidently carrying out his duties. At least no one expected him to talk.

He didn't know how long he lay there; maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours, his nerves tingled and he lost sense of time. He sat up and fingered his glasses, pausing for a moment to let the dizziness pass, then made his way to the desk. He took his notebook out of his tennis bag, but the flicker of escaping papers caught his eye.

Reaching for the papers, he saw that the little origami man Kawamura had given him had fallen out. He picked it up and some of the papers came with it. They were stuck together, so he carefully pealed them apart, thinking they were old homework. Instead he found two scraps of paper that looked like they had been one rectangular strip now torn into two. There were some scribbles on them, but nothing he could make out.

Looking closer, he noticed that the paper was the same thickness and texture as the paper man. He must have been bored for something like this to catch his attention. The paper doll he placed on the edge of his desk.

As if on cue, a draft picked the little man up and almost made it seem like it were standing. Amused, he watched the paper, waiting for it to fall. But it didn't. In fact, the wind made it look like it was walking, or waving, or maybe even hopping.

Were he not Tezuka Kunimitsu, the man with only one expression, his jaw would have dropped. For at that moment, he realized that his window was closed and there was no wind.

The paper was _waving at him._

* * *

Standing at the peak of the mountain of which his target was named, the puppet master allowed the wind to whip his pure white garments harshly around him. The Heian era clothes fit perfectly with the natural landscape as if portraying a print from an ancient wood block painting. Pale green leaves danced in the air before him, playing out the scene from the drama below. Each represented one of his puppets.

The scarlet edged leaf from a massive old oak, a representation of the young heir he often serviced for profit, crinkled into a deathly yellow as it realized its detachment from the maternal branch. It drifted away from the others, then down the mountain side and out of sight. The remaining few leaves twirled and trembled, bound by his spell despite the natural wind that urged them on.

Now was the time of judgment.

* * *

_L'alimentazione di un nome_

"I've grown to need you, Syuusuke."

_Un titre pour l'existance_

"I've grown to want you."

_Ein tiefer Anschluß trennten_

"And now, my desire can no longer be denied."

_By black and pure desires_

Mizuki's voice echoed coldly in the dark, candle-lit room. The stale air crackled in silence, threateningly still, so that even breathing was painfully difficult. Fuji's skin tingled in the places he'd been touched, and the spots Mizuki's fingers rested on burned as if frozen.

He wondered how he could still feel, at this point. It felt like forever since this had started, since he had last been in Tezuka's room... Tezuka... he thought of his cool eyed boyfriend, the only one he was close to who had not noticed he was gone. No, even before the curse, Tezuka had been cold...

Looking back, Fuji wondered how much of their relationship had been one-sided. Fuji had been the one to confess, no longer able to contain the searing infatuation that had grown from a subtle crush his freshman year. He had been the one to initiate the relationship, the one to pull Tezuka out after practice on what was more or less their first date. He had been the one to step up on tiptoe, pressing his lips to the brunette's, who'd grown rapidly taller than him during the summer.

It took him months to convince the stoic captain to go further, and he had practically given himself to Tezuka on their first night. Both were inexperienced and fumbling, and Fuji kept hidden the pain he felt during the initial penetration. But after that they'd grown used to it, and then addicted to it. Sex was frequent and often the only part of their relationship that seemed stable. Tezuka was always busy with his duties as captain and student body president, and they hardly talked or went on dates. But Fuji loved the other so much, so deeply, it didn't matter... the tensai was determined to stay by Tezuka's side, as long as he was allowed.

These small tokens of proximity Tezuka had permitted, but had there been anything more? Fuji couldn't remember. He could still hear the echo of Tezuka's cold reply to Inui in the locker room, when asked if the bespectacled brunette had noticed the strange feeling of displacement caused by the curse... _No._ No questioning. No hesitation. Total assurance. Nothing could rock the Spartan's world, not even the sudden lack of existence of the one he'd been doing for the past year and a half.

Fuji had been forgotten, and even the lack of memory had not been mourned.

Tendril-like fingers carved up along his sides, drawing him from his depressing rumination back to his woeful plight. Mizuki's excitement rolled off his tongue, sending a pang of irritation to his captive. Of all people to out-do him, for it to be this jester... Fuji felt a spark of anger, his tongue lashing in response.

"By doing this, do you really think you can-"

"I have you," Mizuki cut him off. He rattling the chains for emphasis, a victorious smirk twisting his cheeks and lips. Finally, the data-reliant manager would be released from the endless dreams, the passionate desire to grasp this now literally ethereal being before him. His journey of obsession was almost at its end, if he could only break away that last edge of defiance.

"I knew Atobe would destroy his connection sooner or later," he prattled, eager to rub salt into the gash left from Atobe's deception. "I would have preferred sooner, but he's not exactly someone I could order around, you know? And he was the one doing me the favor, so I played things his way for awhile."

The candlelight reflected in his blackening irises, making them glow in the surreal darkness. "Let me remind you again, Fuji Syuusuke," he whispered, wrapping his arms around the tensai's bare shoulders and hugging his captive possessively. His hot breath tickled into the brunette's ear, his lips close enough to bite it. " _You're mine._ "

Fuji's body trembled violently, hopelessness tingling beneath his skin and spreading along his veins. Lukewarm moisture gathered along his lower lashes, revealing his inner frailty, the vulnerability he always hid behind a smiling mask. "If you love me," he choked, his voice cracked and desperate, "then let me go."

". . . Love?" The arms around him loosened and pulled away, and for the smallest second, Fuji thought maybe Mizuki had listened to him. But after a few surprised blinks, the black haired manager burst out laughing. His nails dug into the tensai's shoulder as he could barely contain himself. "I didn't say anything about love."

... _Oh_...

The last fragment of hope fell to the ground, the sound of it shattering drowned out by Mizuki's incessant chortles. Its remnant shards cut into the tensai's mind and heart, driving away any last remarks, any last trace of resistance. The void of Pandora's box filled him with desolation as the nearest candle melted down to its holder, dying along with his will. The talisman with his name, the last proof of his existence, lay with his captor. He was no more than a slip of paper.

And yet, Mizuki didn't notice his victory. He continued ranting, waving his hands for emphasis, eyes shining brighter than the remaining candles. "What's so great about love, anyways? Tezuka loves you, yet he forgot about you along with everyone else. Love is a useless, pathetic thing. Forget about it, here and now, you are mine..."

...Forget...

Yes... forget. Fuji wanted to forget. He wanted to forget he'd been forgotten. He wanted to forget so much...

But something Mizuki said sparked something inside of him. Something in those words, something greater than forgetting, something he could barely believe but rang inside his ears. Something important, something he had forgotten...

It was as if Mizuki had pushed the vacuous box before his face, gloating and grinning, not realizing that the smallest sliver of crystal still clung to the bottom...the glint of it caught in withered cerulean orbs. Even as the manager continued his rant, Fuji could hear were the words echoing again and again in his head... _'Tezuka loves you.'..._

 _No...he doesn't!_ Fuji cried in his mind, even as his outer expression grew numb. He pushed away the proffered hope, not wanting to feel it shatter one more time around his fading heart. But how... how could this man who'd been observing him, them for so long, possibly be mistaken? But no, no... it was Fuji who really knew Tezuka, who'd tried to melt the millennium cold icecap that no one ever could... ... _If Tezuka ...cared... then... there would have been some sort of sign..._

_"I'll take the look in Tezuka's eyes that was pointed at you."_

Hadn't Atobe said that? Fuji hadn't understood, at the time, what the diva had meant... _What look was he..._

Two years they'd been lovers. From the beginning, Fuji felt the coldness of those hazel orbs, the lonely struggle to bring warmth to their relationship, though it often felt more like sex than making love. But surely...

What look? When had Tezuka ever really looked at him? There must have been a time...

Lids sliding over dim blue orbs, Fuji saw an image of the stoic captain grow in his mind, not of the stern, heartless leader, but the one who spoke gently to him in private. The faintest smile etched at the corner of his mouth, unnoticeable to anyone who didn't truly know him, which was almost everyone. Fuji remembered... vaguely, and then more clearly, the touch of those chapped, gentle lips, as if they were on him now... the feel of his captain's body, the sighs he made, long and content instead of crisp and exasperated, the almost invisible blush on his cheeks, the small, significant twinkle in his eyes... the look... _that_ look... filled with affection.

"Oh...He..." He didn't notice he spoke out loud. Mizuki stopped in the middle of his speech, twirling his finger in his hair as he observed the tensai like a test specimen, speculations forming in his data-run brain.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me your weaknesses if I asked." The manager seemed content to continue on with his lecture, as if feeding off the sound of his own voice. "Though in your current state, you don't have much in terms of strength, nfu. Maybe I was wrong about you? But I'm never wrong."

It no longer mattered what Mizuki said. The words were no more than harmless vibrations. In Fuji's mind, he was redrawing Tezuka's eyes. Affection, want, caring, desire, lust... past the expressionless visage, all the emotions that swirled inside those deep brown orbs... the ones that only he could read... within them, there was...

"God ... oh god," he gasped, as realization dawned on him. A kaleidoscope of images swirled around him, his first night with Tezuka, when the stoic brunette had leaned down and kissed him, as if finally returning his kiss in the locker room... those handsome, glass-rimmed eyes filled with passion, even despite the stiff, grimacing lips. Eyes that exposed his feelings...so filled with...

Mizuki furiously jerked at the chains, completely perturbed as he realized he was being ignored. But his actions were as rain is to the ocean. Fuji felt nothing, heard nothing, but the hum of his own memories.

He had forgotten. The narrow, gentle gaze... filled with love.

He had forgotten Tezuka loved him.

"It's my fault," he whispered. Mizuki glared at him incredulously, but Fuji took no notice.

"I forgot. I forgot he loved me... and so that love ceased to exist."

The curse. The curse had fed off his doubt.

"I forgot Tezuka's love."

And now it was too late.


	11. C10: Fuji's Memories (The Human)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuji's Memories
> 
> ~ The Human ~

"I forgot..." he whispered, oblivious to Mizuki's murderous glares. "I forgot he loved me... and so that love ceased to exist."

A smirk twisted once again on the data fiend's face as the panic inside him vanished. Of course he knew about the curse's base; Fuji had brought himself down.

"I forgot Tezuka's love."

His doubt fueled the curse. First he had forgotten... and then, once that precious feeling had vanished, Tezuka fell easily into the dark realm of the curse, forgetting he'd ever had someone to love.

Fuji had allowed it to happen. It was if he'd cast the curse on himself. If Tezuka, the most important person in his life had forgotten him, then nothing else mattered, not even his own existence...

He was in Mizuki's hands now. The chains around him constricted with the manager's will, digging painfully into his skin. His head fell back, his mouth dropped open in a silent scream, and he could feel Mizuki closing in on him, surrounding him, owning him...

And then there was a loud bang, and a crash, and someone yelling as the floor shook angrily. He heard a startled gasp, then something like a growl along with stomping feet, and the whack of someone being punched.

The remaining candles blew out in an instant, but though the room grew dark, his shadow cast against the wall as a bright light poured down on him from behind. Less than a second had passed, and then a body was falling, and he saw Mizuki crash onto the ground next to him with a hard thump. Something else flew into the wall and shattered.

Fuji took a few shocked breaths, then he felt the chains being torn off, except what he had thought were metal chains were no more than long white strips of paper.

Warm, strong hands took hold of his arms and pulled him from the shreds of paper. He was turned around and gently embraced by a firm, warm chest, cloaked in a familiar white and blue polo.

"Tezu..."

His whimper was hushed by a large hand placed against his cheek, his wide blue eyes caught by soft, trembling hazel. Heavy breaths shook the cold air, his chest flooded with relief as his eyes captured the visage of the one he'd wanted to see so badly, the one who was by some miracle holding him.

Tezuka looked so handsome without his glasses.

"You … you remembered..." Fuji whispered, and the glimmer swirling in those hazel orbs was enough to confirm everything he'd finally realized. _I remembered that you love me, and so that emotion existed within you again. And then, you were able to remember me too..._

They held each other in a moment of silence, only their breathing pulsing through the cold, stale air.

"But... how did you find me?" The question fell from his lip, laced with not only curiosity but worry. Just because Tezuka had remembered him didn't mean he'd developed Fuji-radar.

"This." Tezuka help up a small paper man, the lowest level of Shikigami. "Kawamura gave it to me after school. It led me to you. And this-" he held up two scraps of familiar looking paper. . . "was with it."

Fuji could tell at a glance who the shikigami belonged to. _Onee-san. . ._ Taking hold of the papers, he saw that they were actually the same talisman slip, ripped in two...

_Atobe._ Brows wrinkled in pity, he blew lightly on the sheets, erasing the name inscribed in ancient characters. It was no longer needed as a pole - he had a much stronger support holding him now.

His hazel eyed lover helped him to stand, draping a regular's jersey upon his bare form. They stood in a cultish circle, drawn in white chalk around the floor, with the burnt out candles placed carefully at five points. Glancing around, he realized they were in a small bedroom, probably Mizuki's dorm room at St. Rudolphs, and the occupant of said room was sprawled miserably on the floor. By the awkward angle of his flailed limbs, it didn't look like the purple loving manager would be regaining consciousness any time soon.

Tezuka helped him walk forward, but as soon as he stepped outside the circle, a burning sensation flashed white hot through him, lasting for only a second, as the last of Mizuki's spell cut completely away from his body. He felt so light and so heavy at the same time, and would have fallen if Tezuka had not taken him up in a hug. Tezuka... was not asking anything...

But this was not the place and now was not the time for explanations, from either of them. They both remained in mutual silence as Tezuka bent to scoop up his glasses from the floor. Only one lens remained, the other shattered into shards embedded into the nearby rug.

Slipping his hand into Tezuka's right pocket, he took out the handkerchief he'd given his buchou last Christmas, knowing Tezuka always carried it with him. He carefully wrapped up the pieces of glass, not wanting to leave anything of Tezuka's in this place, cupping the tiny parcel in his hands as his beloved led him outside.

Fuji realized what was going to happen a fraction of a second before they stepped through the room's doorway. The white scrawl circling the room glowed with one last flicker of brilliance before going out, and Fuji gasped as Tezuka's jacket slipped - not from, but _through_ his shoulders.

Tezuka stopped with a jerk, his lips loosening in concern, a slight tremble in them and in his eyes as he entwined Fuji's fingers with his own. The tacit question in his eyes made Fuji smile, just slightly, despite his latest predicament. Even now, Tezuka was holding in his fear and lack of understanding, staying strong, though Fuji could see how he really felt, how confused and worried he was. But they were still touching - Tezuka's hand stayed firm in his own.

"My body's not really here," Fuji quietly explained, looking up into the soft brown eyes of his lover.

"The spells around this room connected me to my physical form, so Mi... Mizuki could touch me, but ... I broke that connection when I stepped through the wards. It should be... my body should have reappeared where I ... well, where I left it."

Tezuka thought for a seconds, then nodded. "My room." He squeezed Fuji's hand, his silent way to ask another question.

Fuji smiled, genuinely at this little bit of affection. This was the Tezuka he knew... always speaking without words. If only Fuji had believed, had understood what all Tezuka's little signs of caring were trying to tell him...

"You remember me now," he softly whispered, quieter than a humming bird's wings. "And we're connected in a way like no other. That's why you can touch me like this. But my body isn't here... I need to take it back."

His eyes filled with determination, gaining strength from Tezuka's reaffirming presence, the emotions that were strong enough to touch even his formless soul.

Tezuka frowned, clearly not understanding. "Shouldn't this all be over once we retrieve your body in my room?"

"No..." Fuji breathed out coldly, his fear turning to anger as his mind began to churn. "This won't end until I face the true caster... the only one who could truly be behind this."

Tezuka stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he growled, "True caster?"

"Yes... My grandfather."

* * *

Fuji muttered some spells, changing his form so that he was back in his regular's uniform. His spiritual form was only a projection, anyway, and for the first time since this all began, he found he had the clarity of mind to control it.

He began to explain as they headed towards Tezuka's. No one else could see him, so it was convenient that Tezuka was a man of little words - he wouldn't look like he was talking to himself.

He told Tezuka about everything that had happened those last several days... how he had seen the regulars, and his family, and Mizuki... and Atobe. Tezuka had been shocked, which meant his eyes slightly widened, but he said nothing other than nod. The squeeze he gave Fuji's hand served as reassurance - Tezuka knew who he had chosen.

"Then Mizuki said... and Atobe too... they made me realize that I'd forgotten... I forgot that you loved me, and..."

"Fuji..." Tezuka stopped walking, and turning towards him. Fuji could see it in his eyes, an overflowing guilt, bubbling out along with his words, "I'm so sorry... I can't believe... I forgot you, I can't believe it, I can't forgive myself. It's not because I don't... I don't know why..."

"No." Fuji felt his heart breaking, his eyes welling up with tears as he saw how painful, how overcome with remorse his lover felt. "Oh Tezuka, it was my fault, it was always mine... I... you forgot me, but I - I forgot you first. I forgot you loved me, and that love ceased to exist. I was just so... scared." He could feel it, all his insecurities, all his fears from the day since they'd gotten together spilling out. "I thought you would forget me if you left. If you went to Germany, or when we graduate... or when someone found out, like your parents, and forced us apart. I was so afraid, and I didn't trust you...

"I know it was stupid... I should have realized, should have trusted that you did love... do, even though you've never put it into words -"

"Fuji Syuusuke." Tezuka placed his hands on both sides of Fuji's head, turning up his chin and staring intently into those clear blue eyes. "I love you. Never forget that."

They stared at each other for a moment, taking in the look on each other's faces. Fuji had said those words to Tezuka so many times, and he felt like he didn't want to say them again, not now, not until he was back in his own body. But it was true, they both realized - it was different in words, and Fuji could feel his heart pound, as fast and hard as it had been when he'd first made his confession.

Tezuka's face was as stony as always, but as always, Fuji could see more emotion in his eyes, in the slight tremble of his pupils. His lover wasn't embarrassed, much to Fuji's pleasure, but they both seemed to understand that this was the chip in their relationship. They spent too much time relying on their ability to read the feelings of each other, rather than flat out speaking them.

They walked the entire way to Tezuka's house. They didn't want to worry about dealing with a bus or a train, though it was late enough in the day that most of the crowds would be gone at this hour. They had much more to discuss, anyway.

"I was watching the paper man, when I began to remember," explained Tezuka. "It was, the memories were just suddenly there, back, a part of me. I perhaps should have been more confused, but I knew you were gone, that you'd disappeared for weeks, and that I had to find you to get you back. I thought the paper man had made me remember, so I followed it, believing it would lead me to you."

Fuji nodded. "It wasn't actually the shikigami... that is the name of this... but I can't imagine the timing was a coincidence. This shikigami belongs to my sister... she's been helping me all along."

"I also found this," Tezuka pulled out two small scraps of paper, that had obviously once been one. "The paper... shikigami, waved, and the paper attached to it."

"This talisman... Atobe had it," Fuji took the scraps of paper from Tezuka, that had clung to the little origami man. "It had my name on it... the shikigami probably used what was left of its magic to find me." He rubbed it, his lips deepening into a frown. "This...it's more than a pole..." He sighed heavily, feeling a weight grow in his heart. "My grandfather... he did something horrible... oh god, he must have done this to Mizuki too, that would explain..."

Tezuka looked at him questioningly.

"These are kankikujyunjou. They manipulate emotions." Fuji ran his finger along one of the halfs, and it rustled as if torn around by a circular wind. This required far more power than he'd used as a child - Fuji realized now how blinded he'd been to his grandfather's manipulations.

After the rustling settled, Tezuka suddenly found a second piece of paper peel away from the one he had, thin and almost translucent, but there was writing on it, a word scrawled in a language he didn't understand.

"Roughly, the closest translation for this would be amorous..." Fuji shook his head, his eyes cringed in a mixture of sympathy and disgust. "What started as faint interest on Atobe's point, was amplified a hundred fold into a raging desire. It's not his fault he felt that way... my grandfather _forced_ this on him. ... And Mizuki... he must have had something like this too. I know my grandfather, he is a buddha of patience, he would have planned this for a very long time..."

"Why would he do this to his grandson?" Tezuka's voice was it's typical monotone calm, but Fuji could hear the anger within it.

"It's... a test," Fuji sighed, knowing he'd have to come to terms with this sooner or later. No... he had to figure this out now, before they reached Tezuka's house. He had a bad feeling...

"I come from a long line of onmyouji. My grandfather is said to be a distant relative of Abe no Seimei, who founded the religion. Everyone in my family - my mother, my sister, even my brother, and of course, myself... we all have inherited his power.

"I have been trained, for a very long time...as long as I can remember, even, to control my abilities. I can do... well, most of what my grandfather has done, I can do as well. I have used kankikujyunjou before, many times. When I was younger, and far too immature to have such powers, I used them for fun... but those times are harmless compared to what I've done... more recently. I'm a practicing onmyouji, and I've done... so many, many things. I can't..." He shook his head, trying to shake out the darkness he felt overwhelm him. "I know what this is. My grandfather... for him, this is no more than a test. I'm of age, now, to fully envelop my role ... as an onmyouji."

Tezuka growled, "But this kind of test - "

"- Could kill me, yes." Fuji crumpled the papers in his hand, letting them turn to ash before dissolving into the wind. "But if I failed, then my grandfather would easily be rid of a useless heir. It's killing two birds with one stone; for him, either path is a benefit.

"I've been in his way, you see, of Yuuta's training, and in some way even Yumiko's. I didn't want my family to take on this burden... so I forced my grandfather to focus his training and attention on me. My parents wanted that as well, thinking I was more talented than my siblings. But with this curse... either I'd prove myself, and complete my training. Or … eventually, my family would have forgotten more and more about me... and then they wouldn't have to feel the pain of my failure."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Tezuka's voice rumbled low, a comforting force as solid as a boulder. "No matter what the curse does, to our minds, to our memories - Syuusuke, you are far from forgotten."

Lit blue eyes turned towards him. "Kunimitsu?"

"As terrified as I was when I realized you were gone, and that I needed to find you... I was in far more pain during the time I'd forgotten you'd existed."

He wasn't lying. Fuji couldn't tell if he felt joy or horror hearing his lover's confession, the depth of his tone and length of his sentence more than enough indication of how horrible Tezuka had truly felt, though he had acted normal before his peers. No...it hadn't been normal. Fuji had fooled himself into thinking that, but Tezuka had been far more harsh, and far more distant with his teammates than the honey haired brunette could ever remember.

The rest of the trip went quickly, and it was only when they stood at the gateway to Tezuka's home that Fuji let go of his hand.

"I can feel it... my grandfather's power." Fuji grimaced. "I know there must be more to this test... from his point of view, I've almost failed. My sister... and you... were the ones to save me."

"Why must you pass by _his_ standards?" Tezuka's anger even disturbed his usual monotone. "We're going to fight this together."

Looking up at his bespectacled lover, Fuji smiled and re-grasped his hand. "Let's go." _I can't lose,_ he thought to himself. _Even if Tezuka forgets me, he'll still be in pain... I have to remember that, and fight whatever traps Grandfather has set for me..._

They went up the stairs, hand in hand, Fuji pulling slightly ahead. Tezuka opened the door - they'd learned on their way that Fuji couldn't touch anything, other than his beloved.

Fuji had tried to imagine what he would have to face - tiny shikigami, attacking them in hoards; black magic cursing blindness and whatever other ailments upon them; perhaps even his grandfather himself, ready for a battle of wits and magic tossed at each other.

Tezuka's room was as calm as his house. All that was there was Fuji's body.

His body, standing over at the window, even though he wasn't in it. His visage, turning to smile at them, that same, close lipped smile he always gave to his opponents when calmly playing a match. His light brown locks, shifting just slightly about his own chin, framing his own face, somewhat covering his eyes, which were obscured into upturned crescents, hidden as he always hid them from the outside world.

His voice, coming from his own small lips, talking to them, soft and effeminate - "Hello, me."

"Syuusuke," confusion seeped through Tezuka's voice as he glanced between the Fuji by his side, and the identical, if not far more real looking Fuji across the room. "What -"

The smile vanished, and the Fuji by the window revealed his eyes, a boiling shade of red that was nothing like cerulean that should have been there. The red eyed Fuji lifted his hand, and power in the form of hailing wind burst through the room, flinging about everything in the room, enveloping the room with a hurricane the spiralled towards them at a hurling pace. No more than a spirit, Fuji was unaffected, but Tezuka was flung outside, the door slamming shut behind him.

Fuji took a deep breath, willing himself to ignore the pounding and faint shouts of his name from Tezuka who was locked outside the door, and locked eyes with his red eyed doppelganger. He'd known he'd have to face this test alone.

"You _will_ return my body to me." His voice shook with power, his words coupled with his determination weaving into a spell.

But his double merely chuckled, lightly, identical to the sound he himself would make when facing a far weaker opponent, and the demand spell dissolved away.

"Such weak determination," his fake laughed. "You can't even tickle me with magic like that. You don't even deserve this body, not after you abandoned it."

"My grandfather forced me out of that body," Fuji charged, unblinking, his voice as steady as his glare. "And then he let you, a wandering spirit, slither into it. Your real body is gone, you must have died along time ago, and taking over mine will not give you back the life you've lost. The ones who remember you will not know you in this form - be gone."

He held out his hand, palm forward and fingers spread, the air around it shimmering with the power of his command. Even without his talismans or the time to chant, he felt powerful in his spiritual form, unbound by the physical world, he himself was pure magic. He had no need to translate that magic into something solid, not when his opponent was also a spirit.

Yet despite his gleaming barrage, the sanguine eyed being merely laughed, even imitating Fuji's hand gestures as it folded his arms and rested its chin against its fingers.

"Why would I return to that drab, boring life," The spirit chuckled, still with Fuji's voice. "When I can be Fuji Syuusuke? Tennis prodigy, onmyouji, social enigma - in fact, I bet I can be an even better Fuji Syuusuke than you ever were. Better, and more loved."

"I'll beat you," Fuji declared, never letting his eye contact go. "I'll rip you from my body, and take back the life that's mine. I'll protect Tezuka -"

"Protect him?!" The spirit laughed, loudly, not in the soft, graceful tones of the brunette, but in a hollow, malicious voice that echoed strangely in the small space. "From what, yourself?!" It almost gurgled, bending double over its stomach. "How could you protect him, when you've caused him so much pain?!"

Fuji's nostrils flared, water filming over his eyes as he charged, "I won't allow him to feel the pain of forgetting me again -"

"He won't!" The spirit grinned, "Don't you see? He won't forget you. He'll have _me_ , his lover, Fuji Syuusuke. It won't be like before, with that silly lack of existence curse. This time, all your friends, your family, your sex pet - they won't notice any difference, since there won't be anything to forget." The grin turned maniacal, his white teeth gleaming along with those wide, red eyes. "This time, they'll have _me_."

"No!" Fuji's breaths came out in fast, hot spurts. "It's not the same, a spirit like you, you're malignant, you'll break from your facade of being me and harm them -"

"Not nearly as much as you already have." The spirit grew calm, its smile waning, the visage returning to what most people saw when they looked at Fuji Syuusuke - close lipped, smiling, eyes upturned - calculating and calm. "You saw what this curse has done to them. How much pain and distress they felt, not knowing what had happened, not knowing anything about why."

It stepped towards him, its smile widening just slightly. "And it's all your fault.

"You forgot first. You didn't trust Tezuka... he loves you, but do you really love him? For you to carelessly forget his feelings."

For every step it took towards him, Fuji found himself drifting a step back, his mouth unmoving, his mind producing no words.

"It's your fault they were affected, your fault they suffered. Because you didn't keep your distance, because you made them _care_ about you, even though you were taught, as an onmyouji, that you could never truly be close to anyone... "

He had to say something. Words were power, he had to use words...

"It's pathetic, really. All that training... and you didn't notice it was your grandfather creating the curse. Do you even wonder why? Oh, it must be obvious to you now that I say it. He made it that way. He controlled your thoughts so that you couldn't think, couldn't imagine that it was, even though his essence was all over those talisman. Who else would have the power to target you so carefully? So _patiently?_

"He waited until you were outside the wards placed in your home. He made your family members alter their wards, so that they would be affected by the curse and wouldn't become poles. Isn't that funny? Your own family abandoned you, _let_ this happen to you. Of course they did... you're so pathetic, you didn't notice, you didn't realize.

"You were warned, too. You've been trained for this - you let yourself get distracted. By tennis. By sex. What a stupid, hormonal teenager you are. All you care about is your boyfriend, throwing yourself all over him. Such an easy chink in your armor to exploit. You threw yourself at him like a whore, without even believing he loved you. You even denied him that chance... you forced him to forget his love, by forgetting it yourself first. You hurt him. He'll always remember this trauma, and it'll always be all your fault.

"It won't be the last time you hurt him. Every time you try to be normal, live normally, with sports and school and romance, this is what will happen. You were born with too many gifts to simply be let go. You refuse to use them - that makes you even worse. Worse than someone who has no gifts but tries his hardest. And you deny those - like your brother - from using their gifts, saying it's to protect them, when really you're just afraid. Afraid of being outdone. Afraid your brother might be stronger than you, so you let him go untrained.

"So much for everything you were given... you're a failure. You weren't able to defeat the curse. You don't deserve to be an onmyouji."

The spirit was no more than a foot away from him now, in his own body, using his own hand to push against his chest and press him into the door. He could no longer hear the pounding, or Tezuka shouting... maybe his lover had given up on him.

"You don't need this body anymore, Fuji Syuusuke. I'll take it.

"I'll be Tezuka's lover... a far better lover than the only one he's had. I'll never hurt him, like you have, like you always will. I'll be good to him, and trust him, trust in his love, always there to let him love me, adore me.

"Nor will I forget my family, my responsibilities to them, and to my own abilities. It'll be beautiful, a beautiful new life for me, and I'll live it so much better than you have."

He could hardly even hear the spirit now, it was as if his ears were ringing, but he couldn't hear any ringing, all sounds from the world were muffled, like a thick sheet had been wrapped around his head.

It seemed to affect his eyes, too. The room was going blurry, he could barely make out the features on his own face before him, even though the spirit had place his nose only a few inches away.

"Some tensai." The spirit's words sounded like echos, like they were mumbled a hundred miles away. "You can't protect anyone, you can't even protect yoursel..."

He couldn't see anything but a blur of lights, and even those seemed to be fading. He couldn't hear any more, either. If he had had any feeling, any mimicking of a physical form as his soul had done up till now, it was gone, numbed to nothing, from his toes to the tip of his ears. He couldn't feel himself breathing, couldn't tell if he had a mouth to breath from. Even as a spirit, breath had form, had power...

But he had nothing.

No hands, no feet, no face - no eyes, ears, tongue, or nose. He tried to think of his friends, the people who would miss him, but their faces were blurry, and when he tried to draw the memories closer, instead they dissolved. He had no friends, he never had, he'd never deserved any.

His family, too, was cold to him. They knew the things he'd done, the darkness of the curses, his cruel manipulations. They were happy to forget him, that he'd ever been their son, that they'd ever had a middle child. That wasn't so bad, he realized... after all, he'd forgotten them too.

He had to have parents, he reasoned... but they were gone, now, not even a memory. And his lover...

As if someone could ever love him...

…

…

…

He was nothing.

No, he was almost nothing.

He was still just a little bit of something, he realized, because he felt pain.

He felt pain, in his hand. He had a hand, and it was able to feel pain.

He smelled iron. He knew it was iron, because it smelled like blood. Perhaps it was blood, he wondered, instead of iron, and he brought up his hand to his mouth, because he had a mouth, he realized his did, and he licked it. It tasted salty, and like iron, and he knew it was blood, his blood, from his hand, which was cut and bleeding.

And he could smell it, because he had a nose, and a face. A face for his nose to be on.

He heard a clink, the sound of glass, pieces of glass clinking together. They had fallen when he had moved his hand, fallen against each other and onto the bed. He knew he was on a bed, he could feel it, a mattress soft and warm below him.

He was lying down on a bed, he knew it. He reached out with his hand - there was the glass, cutting into his fingers, tiny little pieces, and he felt he should know what they were. He did know, they were pieces from a lens, a broken glass lens, he remembered because below them he could feel the soft cotton of a handkerchief, his handkerchief that he'd weaved tiny spells of protection into.

The handkerchief... it had stayed with him, solid in his hand, carrying the little pieces of glass, even when Tezuka's jacket had passed through him, and he hadn't been able to touch anything else, because it held his own magic inside of it.

"... Te..." He breathed, gasping, choking, trying to make his lungs work, to take in air. He could _breath_ , it hurt, it was hard, but he could do it.

He tried to talk, and managed a cough, feeling his head lull to the side. He knew who Tezuka was. He wasn't going to forget. He know Tezuka was the one person who loved him.

"... Ku... ni..." His attempt to form syllables came out as more coughs. He felt a pressure on his hand, something warm, another hand, taking his, holding it.

"... -suke. Syu..." He could hear. The voice first sounded like it was coming through water, but it was getting more and more clear. "... ke. Syuusuke!"

"... Kunimitsu..." Fuji could feel his eyelids, so heavy, refusing to open, refusing to let him wake, but he _had_ to, he wanted to, he wanted to see light...

He could see it, light, just barely, coming through his lashes as he slowly cracked them open... light... it was so _beautiful..._

An unfocused collection of lights was above him, but it was becoming more focused, more clear, he could see more now that his eyes were almost fully open, the familiar face so blurry above him, mouthing his name, calling him...

"Kuni...mitsu..." Speaking hurt, his throat hurt, it was so dry, so coarse, as if it hadn't been used in days. "I don't know... how you could love me, but... I know you do."

"Of course I do." Tezuka held his hand, and Fuji could only chuckle weakly as he realized how heavy his body felt, how hard it was to get up from the bed.

But he had to get up. His memories were coming back to him now... only a little bit further, if he had lost himself only a little more, he would have forgotten everything, and ceased to exist.

He knew everything, now, could see everything, and understand it - and he knew he had one more thing to do.

He pulled himself up, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his hand.

"You're bleeding," Tezuka calmly informed him, helping him sit up and taking hold of his wrist. The bespectacled tennis captain carefully checked the wound for any remaining shards of glass, putting aside the ones on the comforter, then used his handkerchief to tie up Fuji's hand. Smiling gratefully, Fuji swept his feet off the bed, using the sharp ache in his hand and the confidence of his lover to fuel his will to get moving.

He was barely on his feet, when a light wind lifted up his strands of hair, and a feeling of power enveloped the room.

"Grandfather..."

Standing before him, in the formal garbs of an onmyouji, white, loose garments that puffed out from the stiffness of their cotton, the tall, black hat imperiously rising from his head, covering his pulled back, tied up hair. Fuji's grandfather looked eternally young, in this form anyway, his black hair and blue eyes a perfect, chiseled image of an almost formless face - smooth skin, thin lips, neither smiling nor frowning - not happy, not sad, not disappointed, not impressed. His grandfather simply _was_.

Tezuka was gone. The room was gone. Everything around them was simply white. This was a space just for them, a space where only they could see each other, hear each other - talk to each other.

"You succeeded," came his grandfather's echoing, fathomless voice. It filled the endless space, and at the same time was absorbed by it, gone in the instant it was made. "You overcame my curse. Fuji Syuusuke, you are worthy of the title of Abe."

Steeling his jaw, Fuji glared up with cerulean orbs of his own. "Your curse failed, yes. The people who loved me helped me overcome it. I won't disappear. But, I do not believe I passed your test -"

"It was your power that woke you up," the onmyouji continued, unperturbed. "The spells you wove into the fabric you gave to your lover - they were your final protection. You have learned your lesson - always to be prepared, in every way. Vigilance can only go so far. You have created connections - those who would aid you. Left pieces of your power scattered about, to be there in your time of need. And you were born in the possession of a great quantity of magic. I acknowledge you, now, as my one true heir.

"You will, from here, enter into the world of onmyouji. You will cast aside all of the unnecessary things, anything and anyone that can bring you down - not only for yourself, and for the greatness you are about to achieve, but for their protection, as well. You have learned that there is a price to pay for power.

"But fear not. For this duty is not without rewards. A lover, one lover, shall always be yours. The one you have chosen had proven himself as well. Your sister will continue the line. I have great pride in you, all three of my daughter's children. You have proven yourself worthy.

"You are about to embrace the most important, most potent position in all of Japan. I have for nearly a century been the spiritual guardian of all the great families our nation, of all our great treasures, against the demons and otherworldly beings that would harm it. I have saved mankind, countless times, and this great dignity, this honor that is like no other, no trophy or medal or achievement, this I grant to you. I now -"

"Stop." Fuji shut his eyes, knowing his grandfather would not listen to him otherwise. "You misunderstand me. I don't _care_ about all those things. You hurt my friends. You hurt my family. And frankly, I would rather stay to protect all that is around me, and everything I have right now, then to be some servant of all those wealthy pricks."

"You -"

"I don't accept anything. Go away - right now, I just want to be with the people I love, who are waiting for me."

Fuji raised his hand, feeling power like he had never known flow up from his heels and out through his fingertips. His grandfather - well, the image of his grandfather - faded to white, and then the white, which was all around him, faded back into Tezuka's room, back to where he'd been but a moment before.

He saw, where his grandfather had been, an ornate origami koi fish, twisting as if it leapt from a pond - a far more powerful shikigami than one his sister or he himself could make - with red drops for its eyes. It gave one last tremble in the air, before vanishing into the ground, as if the carpet were the pond's surface.

Tezuka was staring at him, doubtlessly unaware of what had just transpired. Fuji smiled, and wrapped his arms around him in a hug.

"There - Now, it's over."


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Epilogue ~
> 
> There is no evil in this world. All things are shades of gray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the story migrated from ff dot net, but this is the epilogue's debut. :3 Just a bit more to clean things up ~

"You don't have to do this," Tezuka said again. His anger was obvious, but Fuji merely smiled and squeezed his hand.

"It's my fault - my family's fault that this happened." He looked ahead at the hospital entrance, waiting for the glass doors to slide open before pulling Tezuka through.

"They hurt you," Tezuka charged. "No matter what spell they were under, they should have had more self control."

Chuckling lightly, Fuji replied, "That's something only you can do. And this is far worse than what the kankikujyunjou did. Even if their feelings were being manipulated, Mizuki and Atobe were still the ones to caste the curse.

"A failed curse has terrible consequences... its power is reflected back at the caster. My grandfather will have to clean up things with Atobe, as his family's onmyouji, but ... Yuuta told me that no one at St. Rudolph knew what to do, so they brought Mizuki to the hospital."

They stopped outside the hospital room, the one the nurses had told them belonged to Mizuki Hajime.

"Give me a moment, okay? His consciousness won't be right, anyway - he's harmless." Fuji gave his lover one last reassuring smile, before entering the room by himself. He grimaced at what he felt - the dark energies seeping into the walls made him feel sick - but after several minutes of chanting, and planting shikigami to serve as scapegoats, he left. Mizuki was unconscious the entire time. It would be a few more days, Fuji knew, before the curly haired manager awoke - without any memories of what he'd tried to do, and perhaps without any memories of Fuji Syuusuke at all.

Back in the hallway, he nodded to his slightly distressed lover, and they left the place hand in hand. It was the best part of this whole ordeal, Fuji felt, that Tezuka no longer had any qualms about them showing affection in public, and he wondered how long it would be before he started to get annoyed by the "I love you" he heard every day they parted ways. 

"Have you spoken to your grandfather?" Tezuka asked. They'd decided to focus on one problem at a time - and now that Mizuki was recovering, and the clubhouse was more or less back to normal - it seemed Fuji's disappearance had translated into an extended cold that had kept him at home for few weeks - the bespectacled brunette could not help but worry about what he saw as the villain still at large.

"No," sighed Fuji, "But I spoke to my family. I still don't know if I'll truly be able to get out of inheriting his work, but... they support me in staying where I am." He turned to give the stone faced brunette a warming smile. "I'm not quitting school, or tennis, or any other silly thing like that. And I've decided..." He breathed deeply, reveling in his new found determination. "I'm not performing any jobs I don't want to. I talked to Yuuta, and told him the... truth, I guess, about our family. He's old enough to make choices on his own."

Well, he'd told Yuuta enough of the truth - just enough that Yuuta would chose wisely to stay out of things, and maybe have a few shuddering nightmares, which Fuji could happily film while his adorable little brother slept, tossing and turning with crinkled eyebrows.

"I'm strong, I know that, and I'm not afraid of my grandfather. He won't try this test again. He can't understand why I wouldn't want to follow him - he probably thinks this is some childish phase, and that I'll realize on my own that I want to inherit his work."

"Whatever you chose, Syuusuke," Tezuka laid his arm around the tensai's shoulder, pulling him close. "I'll be there with you."

Chuckling, Fuji leased into the embrace. "I should say the same to you, upcoming international tennis star."

They already knew what they wanted from each other. An eternity, together. Fuji even knew, from a little innocent spying with a shikigami, that Tezuka had bought a ring, and was just waiting for the dust from this latest storm to settle before creating the perfect setting to ask.

And of course, Fuji knew what his answer would be.

Yes.


End file.
